THE  CRAFT  OF  THE  TORTOISE 


THE    CRAFT    OF 
THE  TORTOISE 

A  Play  in  Four  Acts 

BY 

ALGERNON  TASSIN 


BONI    AND    LIVERIGHT 
NEW  YOJ*K  1919 


LlHKARi 

0HIYERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


COPYRIGHT,  1919, 
BONI  AND  LIVERIGHT,  INC. 

Copyright  also  in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  and  in  all 
countries  subscribing  to  the  Bern  Convention 


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PREFACE 

THE  tortoise  of  the  fable  finally  won  the  race  for  two 
reasons.  The  major  one  was  preeminently  masculine; 
the  minor  one  was  preeminently  feminine. 

Although  the  hare  himself  in  a  moment  of  contemptu 
ous  boasting  had  suggested  it,  the  idea  of  their  being 
pitted  against  each  other  was  so  ridiculous  to  a  person  of 
his  nimble  legs  that  he  looped  all  over  the  adjacent  ter 
ritory  and  then  took  a  nap.  He  felt  confident  that  when 
ever  he  elected  to  return  to  the  course  he  could  easily 
whisk  in  ahead.  Thus  it  was  not  at  all  that  he  disdain 
fully  tossed  her  a  specious  advantage  by  this  gallivanting 
(as  is  the  habit  of  his  human  prototype) ;  or  that  he  de 
sired  to  throw  in  for  the  benefit  of  the  sole  spectator  a 
few  pyrotechnics  (also  a  mannish  characteristic) ;  or 
even  that  he  tried  to  stimulate  his  own  languid  interest, 
in  a  race  so  one-sided,  by  developing  an  artificial  excite 
ment  (which  would  have  been  behavior  eminently 
human).  It  was  merely  that  the  thought  of  her  as  a  real 
competitor  never  entered  his  silly  head. 

Those  possessing  the  confidence  of  an  enormous  ad 
vantage,  as  JEsop  would  say,  have  ever  underestimated 
not  so  much  their  competitors  as  the  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  recovering  lost  time  and  making  a  brilliant  last- 
moment  finish.  The  idea  has  ever  intrigued  the  vigorous. 
Indeed,  it  lends  the  crowing  exuberance  to  vigor,  this 
feeling  that  there  is  plenty  of  time  for  the  final  easy 
demonstration  of  one's  superiority.  Nor  can  it  be  denied 
that  to  make  the  grand  tour  yet  win  the  race  at  the  same 
time  is  the  summum  bonum  of  human  existence. 


2082464 


yi  Preface 

That  is  possibly  the  reason  why  the  deathbed  repent 
ance  occupied  for  so  many  centuries  the  principal  place 
in  the  imagination  of  the  Christian  church  and  actuated 
so  many  of  its  forms.  Not  only  had  Holy  Writ  fur 
nished  instances  of  the  most  colorful  and  romantic  na 
ture,  but  many  of  its  soberer  teachings  were  calculated 
to  enhearten  the  philanderer  who  would  throw  himself 
panting  and  victorious  over  the  line  at  the  last  moment. 
If  the  wages  of  the  eleventh  hour  servant  equalled  the 
wages  of  those  who  had  borne  the  heat  of  the  day,  why 
report  for  duty  any  earlier  than  necessary?  If  there  is 
less  joy  in  Heaven  for  the  ninety  and  nine  that  need  no 
repentance  than  for  the  one  sinner  that  returneth  just  as 
grace  is  finally  over  and  the  meal  is  being  spread,  why 
not  contribute  noticeably  to  the  delight  of  the  angels? 
Especially  as,  the  passage  hinting  substantially  at  bore 
dom,  it  would  seem  prudent  to  enter  so  permanent  a  com 
munity  not  only  as  the  welcomest  of  citizens  but  with  a 
reputation  already  established  as  a  dispenser  of  smiles 
and  an  enlivener  of  tedium. 

To  men  as  to  angels  the  plodder  has  ever  been  unat 
tractive.  Terrestrially  speaking,  only  in  human  society 
is  the  drone  encouraged.  In  school  and  college,  the 
children  of  the  species  delight  to  dub  him  "greasy,"  an 
epithet  so  loose  as  to  seem  picked  for  its  opprobrium. 
In  maturer  social  circles,  the  thoughtful  spender  laying 
foundation  for  future  solidity  is  stigmatized  as  a  tight 
wad;  and  a  spendthrift  who  scatters  coin  in  one's  own 
direction  is  approved  by  the  most  hardened  of  moralists. 
Nor  is  there  lack  of  scriptural  authority.  Jesus  admired 
the  lilies  of  the  field  because  they  toiled  not  nor  spun; 
and  he  is  represented,  in  the  most  curious  of  passages, 
as  administering  a  somewhat  ungracious  rebuke  to  one 
of  his  hostesses,  the  plodding  Martha  who  looked  out 
for  his  creature  comforts,  in  favor  of  her  sister,  al 
though  manifestly  the  house  could  not  have  kept  itself. 
Our  fiction  exploits  the  prodigal;  there  is  no  romance 


Preface  vii 

in  the  ledger,  its  balancing  or  its  balancer.  The  knight 
errant  is  the  pictorial  personage,  not  the  knight  who 
stayed  at  home  and  managed  his  farm,  though  there 
must  have  been  several  of  these  unknown  to  song  and 
story.  Say  what  you  please,  he  that  kissed  and  rode 
away  has  inspired  more  delightful  memories  than  the 
lover  who  settled  down  to  the  humdrum  business  of  pay 
ing  the  rent  and  feeding  the  children.  Wherever  one 
looks,  in  the  teaching  of  the  church  or  in  the  sorry  habit 
of  the  world,  the  dull  sensible  plodder  is  discouraged. 

The  church,  of  course,  catered  to  the  weakness  of 
humanity  in  this  matter;  and  the  prevalence  among  men 
of  this  tradition  so  sedulously  cultivated,  points  to  some 
basic  reason.  May  it  not  be  man's  elaborate  justification 
of  his  prevailing  vices  ?  For  the  edifying  ending  of  all 
our  novels  and  plays  is  simply  hoakem;  nobody  would 
read  stories  which  began  as  they  finish.  What  we  really 
want  is  the  tale  of  an  irresponsible  gallivanter  who  un 
dergoes  a  last  page  conversion  to  the  proprieties  we  like 
to  consider  an  appropriate  influence  for  the  young;  who 
breaks  every  moral  maxim  except  the  only  attractive  one 
setting  forth  that  it  is  never  too  late  to  mend.  Even  a 
priest  finds  a  sizable  sin  surprisingly  grateful  in  the 
tedious  round  of  small  confessions;  and  the  mildest  of 
ministers  sniggers  when  a  reprobate  hails  him  as  a  gay 
dog.  The  fleeing  Joseph  is  subject  for  laughing  every 
where  but  in  a  book.  Here  he  ceases  at  once  to  be 
entertaining,  and  his  thwarting  of  promising  adventure 
becomes  an  unmixed  exasperation.  What  is  the  use  of 
books,  we  say,  unless  they  are  more  interesting  than  most 
of  us  allow  ourselves  to  be?  And  as  nowhere  in  life 
are  brilliant  finishes  provided  outside  of  the  realm  of 
religion,  let  us  minister  to  our  craving  and  at  the  same 
time  uphold  the  teachings  of  the  church  by  providing 
them  in  literature.  For,  as  some  one  has  remarked,  the 
last  page  conversion  is  as  comforting  to  all  concerned 
as  the  deathbed  repentance.  It  is  impossible  to  demon- 


viii  Preface 

strata  its  inefficacy;  one  has  had  all  the  delights  of 
the  feast  while  the  appetite  still  remained  keen ;  and  the 
eternal  verities  are  reestablished  just  as  indigestion  sets 
in. 

Yes,  the  tortoise  had  only  the  virtue  of  the  plodder; 
and  it  is  of  all  virtues — where  all  lack  zest  to  the  specta 
tor — the  least  colorful.  The  occasional  conflict  with  vice 
enlivens  even  the  possessor  of  virtue  with  a  brief  ex 
hilaration,  but  the  tortoise  struggles  with  nothing  so 
lively  as  vice — merely  with  its  juiceless  shadow,  tempta 
tion.  The  only  comfort  of  the  plodder,  putting  aside 
one  after  another  the  endless  enticements  to  pleasant  loi 
tering  and  pleasanter  aberration,  is  to  keep  the  physical 
eye  upon  the  ground  covered  inch  by  inch  and  the  spirit 
ual  vision  upon  the  distant  goal.  The  heroism  of  the 
plodder  has  never  been  rightly  applauded  since  it  is  en 
tirely  unspectacular.  It  consists  not  only  in  rigorously 
shutting  out  the  scenery  but  in  as  rigorously  closing  the 
mind  to  a  recognition  that  would  paralyze  all  endeavor. 
At  any  moment  the  hare  may  dash  joyously  back  from 
adventure  and  come  rollicking  in  ahead,  cutting  the  tor 
toise  out  of  the  rewards  of  the  race  and  of  the  mani 
fold  privations  upon  the  journey.  Yet  who  shall  say 
that  this  stern  limitation  of  the  horizon  is  a  heroism  after 
all?  It  may  be  only  that  mute  dependence  upon  fun 
damental  human  psychology  which  still  exists  among  us 
despite  the  teachings  of  the  church  to  the  contrary.  The 
habit  of  gambolling  is  not  to  be  put  off  at  will.  The  hare 
is  a  gamboler  still,  even  when  the  tortoise  is  nosing  the 
line.  Glancing  back  from  the  heights  of  the  beckoning 
adventure,  he  beholds  the  tortoise  dragging  her  slow 
length  past  the  stake — yet  before  her  hinderparts  are 
well  across,  he  may  still  crop  that  biggest  daisy  just 
beyond  and  frisk  triumphantly  in,  his  victory  more  gold 
en  that  it  is  snatched  from  apparent  defeat  just  as  um 
pire  fox  is  about  to  award  the  prize.  So  it  is  ever  with  the 
hare,  and  who  shall  say  that  the  thought  has  not  buoyed 


Preface  ix 

the  plodding  tortoise  from  the  moment  she  set  out?  If 
plodding  is  the  least  colorful  of  the  virtues,  it  is  the  only 
one  which  does  not  wait  until  heaven  to  find  its  reward. 
Perhaps  this  is  after  all  the  final  reason  why  the  tor 
toise  is  humanly  unattractive.  Not  only  have  men  and 
theologians  got  together  to  belittle  her,  but  the  jealous 
other  virtues  have  also  entered  the  social  conspiracy  to 
cheapen  her  invariable  success.  The  entire  human  fab 
ric  saves  its  face  at  the  expense  of  the  plodder. 

Yet  though  decidedly  handicapped  by  a  virtue 
which  we  have  been  taught  to  detest,  the  tortoise 
is  not  devoid  of  human  attractiveness.  What  is  the 
essence  of  our  eternal  delight  in  the  tramp,  the  vaga 
bond?  Not  that  he  roams,  surely;  but  that  wherever  he 
roams  he  is  always  at  home,  and  in  a  house  for  which 
he  pays  no  rent.  To  carry  one's  house  on  one's  back, 
to  be  able  to  retire  within  it  upon  the  slightest  threat  of 
danger,  to  drop  asleep  in  one's  tracks  with  perfect  se 
curity  from  marauders,  to  extrude  oneself  delightfully 
in  the  morning  and  set  off  without  any  formality  and 
with  the  knowledge  that  one  will  not  have  to  oust  an  un 
welcome  tenant  at  nightfall — all  this  is  a  convenient 
union  of  domesticity  and  adventure.  These  are  abilities 
which  the  frisking  hare,  nay  even  the  stalking  lion,  might 
covet.  Let  others  burrow  or  build  or  search  for  partial 
security  in  cavern  or  crevice,  the  tortoise  is  provided  by 
birthright  with  both  shelter  and  armor.  And  so  another 
item  of  fundamental  psychology  may  have  buoyed  the 
tortoise  in  her  toilful  journey.  She  came  slowly  but  she 
carried  her  house  on  her  back.  Not  for  nothing  is  the 
tortoise  in  the  ancientest  mythology  the  earth-bearer,  the 
symbol  of  the  origin  of  things  and  their  permanence. 
The  tortoise,  wherever  she  strays,  is  an  essential  house 
keeper. 

The  moral  support  of  a  well-fitting  back  has  been 
alluded  to  by  a  brilliant  lady  who  understood  one  of  the 
more  obvious  functions  of  woman's  clothes — to  humiliate 


x  Preface 

her  less  fortunate  sisters.  This  play  develops  the  theme 
that  woman  compensated  for  her  bodily  inferiority  to 
man,  which  handicapping  her  in  the  beginning  proved  her 
strength  in  the  end,  by  the  utilization  of  her  apparel. 
This  armor  differs  from  the  shell  of  the  zoological  tor 
toise  in  that  it  is  not  for  defense  but  for  offense.  Yet 
if  not  her  actual  birthright,  it  was  improvised — if  one 
may  believe  the  whimsical  story  of  Adam  and  Eve — at 
most  the  day  after  she  was  created.  Let  Eve  fabricate 
what  story  she  pleased  to  fob  off  on  the  architect  of  the 
garden,  she  perceived  instinctively  that  the  apparent  is 
never  as  tempting  as  the  suggested.  She  achieved  on  the 
evening  of  her  birth  the  greatest  height  to  which  man 
has  ever  climbed  by  the  painful  exertion  of  his  much- 
boasted,  late-acquired  imagination.  No  sooner  had  she 
discovered  Adam's  invaluable  appetite  than  her  intuition 
told  her  that  it  would  grow  listless  unless  artificially 
stimulated.  And  she  utilized  his  stupid  fear  to  explain 
her  innovation  plausibly.  That  she  clad  him  also,  was 
only  a  further  ruse  to  hide  her  motive.  One  may  guess 
that  she  did  so  reluctantly,  with  contempt  for  his  hulk 
ing  wits  and  with  much  regret  for  the  wise  caution  of 
concealing  her  cleverness  until  she  had  looked  around  a 
bit.  It  was  a  policy  she  soon  found  not  worth  while  to 
pursue.  Manifold  other  clevernesses  she  has  discovered 
since  and  utilized  his  stupidity  to  go  on  exercising  them 
in  concealment;  but  with  this,  the  first-born  of  her  inven 
tion,  she  shortly  discarded  subterfuge  and  allowed  her 
motive  to  be  partially  discerned  by  her  mate — perhaps 
because  she  foresaw  he  would  never  have  wit  enough  to 
profit  by  it  or  because  she  perceived  at  once  that  he  pre 
ferred  artificial  stimulation  anyway,  even  if  he  saw 
through  it. 

The  woman  in  her  slow  race  for  supremacy  utilized  not 
only  the  clothes  which  she  made  herself  but  those  which 
society  made  for  her.  This  play  deals  with  some  suc 
cessive  spurts  which  the  tortoise  accomplished  while  the 


Preface  xi 

hare  was  gambolling  or  napping.  It  presents  several 
women  who  utilized  the  draperies  of  society  for  their 
personal  advantage.  For  the  craft  of  the  human  tortoise 
is  not  only  to  plod.  Every  forward  inch  has  been  ac 
complished  by  trickery  also.  The  long  history  of  the 
selfishness  and  brutality  of  men  to  the  weaker  sex  made 
this  the  only  means  of  advancement. 

Let  it  not  be  thought  that  this  play  misrepresents 
that  history.  An  historical  fact  does  not  cease  to  be  seri 
ous  because  it  has  now  become  funny.  Nor  should  the 
farcical  interpretation  of  some  of  the  incidents  in  this 
play  discredit  the  authenticity  of  the  facts  at  the  basis 
of  most  of  them.  Tribes  still  exist  where  the  warrior 
disdains  the  menial  service  of  bringing  home  his  kill  or 
even  feeding  himself.  Intermittently  for  a  period  of 
some  centuries  in  the  Middle  Ages,  the  idea  persisted 
that  women  should  conceal  their  hair.  This  period  has 
been  somewhat  extended  to  include  the  invention  of  the 
corset,  often  ascribed  to  Catherine  de  Medici;  and  this 
innovation  has  arbitrarily  been  made  to  coincide  with  the 
subsequent  invention  of  the  farthingale,  at  its  height  (or 
breadth)  under  Queen  Elizabeth.  The  priests  of  the 
Middle  Ages  are  full  of  censure  for  the  unmanly  ex 
cesses  of  male  attire;  and  sought  to  curb  them  rather 
than  the  extravagances  of  women,  which,  long  before  fluc 
tuating  styles  of  dress  had  been  even  dimly  suggested, 
they  seem  to  have  given  up  as  a  hopeless  job.  The  early 
Christians'  mandate  against  all  jewelry  and  ornamenta 
tion  save  in  the  service  of  the  church  encouraged  such 
richness  of  priestly  apparel  that  it  was  not  until  late 
in  the  Middle  Ages  that  the  church  succeeded  in  compel 
ling  the  clergy  to  adopt  a  uniform.  By  this  time  also, 
with  the  political  prudence  which  always  marked  it,  the 
church  had  extinguished  the  brilliant  career  of  the  Lady 
Abbess.  The  summary  marriage  of  landed  women  by 
edicts  of  the  overlord  had  reached  the  proportion  of  a 
scandal  and  had  to  be  checked,  not  by  the  church  but  by 


xii  Preface 

the  State,  before  a  less  candid  civilization  adopted  the 
more  disguised  form  of  succeeding  periods.  The  detailed 
rules  and  regulations  of  the  Love  Game  and  the  serious 
ness  with  which  these  were  followed  for  the  moment  by 
polite  society,  the  universal  practice  of  the  uncommer- 
cialized  mistress  succeeded  by  the  vogue  of  the  acknowl 
edged  and  supported  one  (followed  in  a  less  candid  civi 
lization  by  the  supported  but  unacknowledged  one),  the 
absence  of  social  stigma  for  the  illegitimate — all  these 
are  matters  of  history.  Also  they  are  matters  of  history 
that  can  be  matched  by  as  farcical  beliefs  and  practices 
which  seriously  exist  today,  in  their  turn  to  become  seri 
ous  matters  of  farce  tomorrow. 

This  play  shows,  too,  the  power  of  the  church  develop 
ing  by  trickery  as  well  as  the  power  of  woman.  The 
career  of  the  one  has  been  bound  up  in  the  career  of 
the  other.  The  church  with  its  male  priests  naturally 
took  in  the  beginning  the  male  attitude.  Yet  priests  and 
women  early  recognized  each  other  as  allies;  and  in  the 
beginning,  women  were  doubtless  as  scornful  of  their 
allies  as  their  allies  remained  until  recently  scornful  of 
them.  Their  position,  function,  and  vocation  in  the 
household  of  the  master  were  similar ;  and  their  opportu 
nity  to  play  into  each  other's  hands  against  him  must 
soon  have  been  made  apparent.  The  priests,  of  course, 
had  the  inestimable  superiority  in  their  ability  to  capi 
talize  his  stupid  fear,  which  they  soon  learned  to  in 
crease  by  mechanical  invention.  It  gave  them  an  un 
approachable  strategic  position;  but  for  the  rest  they 
were  dependents  like  women,  existing  by  his  favor  and 
feeding.  As  women's  personal  function  was  to  serve 
his  appetite,  so  the  priest's  personal  function  was  to 
serve  his  vanity.  But  this  was  by  a  most  ingenious  re 
move.  Just  as  women  were  consorts  as  well  as  slaves 
to  men,  so  priests  were  consorts  as  well  as  slaves  to  the 
gods;  and  it  was  to  the  vanity  of  these  they  were  os 
tensibly  administering  while  in  reality  administering 


Preface  xiii 

to  man's.  It  is  not  improbable  that  women  learned  from 
priests  as  quickly  as  from  war  that  they  also  could  ad 
minister  to  the  vanity  of  man.  Being  stupidly  boast 
ful  himself  and  reasoning  that  the  powers  of  earth  and 
air  could  be  flattered  or  bribed  into  better  treatment,  he 
made  these  men  that  he  could  do  so  with  more  surety. 
They  were  men  like  himself,  except,  being  manifestly 
stronger,  he  equipped  them  with  more  arms  and  legs 
and  other  members.  Having  thus  flattered  them,  in 
time  he  had  the  inspiration  to  flatter  himself  by  pro 
claiming  that  they  had  created  him,  with  the  necessary 
exceptions,  in  their  own  image — a  rather  poor  flattery, 
as  man  has  always  been  better  than  his  gods.  Their 
go-betweens  he  treated  as  a  sort  of  privileged  women, 
fearing  and  yet  disdainful  of  them.  Even  today  the 
peasants  of  some  countries  publicly  flog  their  saints 
when  they  do  not  bring  good  harvests  or  otherwise  dis 
appoint  as  go-betweens;  and  even  in  New  York  City 
little  Saint  Josephs  are  ignobly  stood  upon  their  heads 
until  they  restore  lost  property. 

If  priests  did  not  long  remain  in  their  category,  it 
was  because  they  early  realized  that  no  development  was 
possible  as  long  as  they  remained  in  the  home.  Leav 
ing  it,  they  gradually  came  to  rule  men  openly  although 
never  entirely.  Yet  women,  though  remaining  in  the 
home  and  hence  in  their  category,  gradually  came  to 
rule  men  secretly  although  never  entirely.  Fear  was 
the  pull  in  one  case,  sex  in  the  other.  But  as  the  ob 
jects  of  fear  remained  the  same  and  the  objects  of  sex 
kept  changing,  the  priests  always  had  the  better  of  it. 
With  the  scientific  explanation  of  the  physical  forces  to 
appease  which  by  flattery  he  invented  gods,  man  has 
found  them  increasingly  inconvenient  and  largely  cast 
them  aside. 

That  woman,  whose  function  formulated  Christianity 
so  belittled,  has  remained  more  faithful  to  it  would  at 
first  sight  seem  an  anomaly.  Yet  the  explanation  is 


xiv  Preface 

not  far  to  seek.  Having  learned  by  long  experience  to 
go  around  what  she  could  not  surmount  and  make  the 
best  of  what  she  could  not  help,  she  began  to  derive 
from  the  very  religion  that  threatened  sex  many  sex 
reactions.  This  was  easily  accomplished  in  that  relig 
ion  even  in  its  last  evolution  had,  with  its  many  sen 
suous  accompaniments  and  mystic  symbols,  never  for 
gotten  that  its  first  ritual  was  a  sex  manifestation;  and 
the  deification  of  the  crucified  man  of  Nazareth  with 
its  acutely  visualized  glorification  of  physical  suffering 
actually  made  the  church  whose  dogma  penalized  sex 
more  sexual  than  some  earlier  religions.  Social  law  had 
allowed  men  sex  experience  at  all  times,  but  as  social 
law  shaped  itself  under  ecclesiastical  influence  it  al 
lowed  women  sex  experience  only  within  strict  limita 
tions;  and  the  excluded  woman  found  a  psychic  sex  life 
in  the  church,  the  more  as  for  her  had  been  invented 
a  special  apparatus  in  the  spiritual  bridegroom  and  his 
bride.  All  women,  too,  were  glad  to  revive  themselves 
with  the  doctrine  of  the  church  that  in  heaven  (even 
though  it  admitted  no  such  union,  and  she  must  leave 
the  house  on  her  back  an  outworn  shell  behind  her) 
woman  would  be  recompensed  for  all  that  a  master's 
god  ordained  that  she  should  forfeit  upon  earth. 

Of  all  the  non-essential  industries  of  man,  god- 
making  and  war-making  have  been  the  most  inevitable 
and  piteous.  They  have  the  same  derivation,  fear  and 
fear-born  swagger;  and  they  have  gone  hand  in  hand. 
That  gods  have  always  been  carried  forth  to  battle, 
proves  nothing  of  course;  but  it  is  significant  that  the 
people  at  present  most  politically  opposed  to  war  are 
as  a  class  both  by  profession  and  accusation  godless. 
Nor  was  the  continuous  failure  of  formulated  religion 
to  set  itself  against  war  ever  more  clearly  demonstrated 
than  in  the  inception  of  the  last  two  religions,  Chris 
tianity  and  Mohammedanism.  The  latter  held  out  more 
definite  inducements  to  war  than  any  religion  previously 


Preface  xv 

contrived.  In  the  campaign  document  which  monastic 
hands  made  of  the  teachings  of  Jesus,  he  figures  as  the 
prince  of  peace  who  has  come  to  bring  a  sword  upon 
earth.  The  human  intellect  is  peculiarly  at  the  mercy 
of  such  naive  contradictions  as  these,  and  religious 
utterance  had  seized  from  the  beginning  upon  its  weak 
ness  for  paradox.  Folklore  early  accustoms  the  childish 
mind  to  fairies  as  dainty  repositories  of  unlimited 
power,  and,  once  accustomed  to  such  beloved  formulas, 
few  people  grow  so  mature  as  to  subject  them  to  im 
personal  inspection. 

The  ability  of  custom  to  envelop  with  an  endearing 
haze  the  monstrous,  the  hideous,  the  absurd  is  endless. 
Yet  invent  a  new  grotesquerie  precisely  similar,  and  who 
so  shocked  as  those  who  cling  most  tenderly  to  the 
nursery?  A  curate  will  fondly  make  a  pilgrimage  for 
the  hot  cross  buns  our  cunning  bakers  display  on  Good 
Friday — surely  an  inherently  shocking  thing — when  he 
would  recoil  in  horror  from  a  new  advertisement  of,  let 
us  say,  Easter  Self-Raising  Buckwheats.  Tell  such  a 
person,  if  you  dare,  that  the  Bolsheviki  have  made  the 
best  demonstration  of  the  so-called  teachings  of  Jesus 
since  his  day,  in  that  they  have  in  a  whole-hearted  and 
wholesale  manner  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat 
and  exalted  them  of  low  degree,  and  you  will  speedily 
discover  that  a  sentiment  hazed  by  abstraction  or  hea 
venly  remoteness  is  one  thing,  and  its  concrete  and 
localized  eruption  is  another.  It  is,  of  course,  impos 
sible  that  the  man  who  said  Render  unto  Caesar  the 
things  that  are  Caesar's  and  unto  God  the  things  that 
are  God's  should  ever  have  rejoiced  in  the  contempla 
tion  of  such  indiscriminate  topsyturvydom.  This  per 
version  of  his  teaching  was  merely  another  of  the  catch- 
all  processes  by  which  his  utterance  was  distorted  into 
a  campaign  document  which  should  allure  not  only  paci 
fist  and  militarist  but  free  and  bond. 

The   Christian  religion  when   formulated   into  a  po- 


xvi  Preface 

litical  engme  was  astutely  calculated,  as  has  been  said, 
to  keep  the  enslaved  and  woman  in  subjection  and  to 
make  them  accept  their  lot  by  substituting  credit  for 
cash,  reward  in  the  next  world  for  endurance  in  this. 
It  was  more  easily  achieved  in  that  the  scattered  sayings 
of  the  simple  socialistic  teacher,  who  went  about  doing 
good  and  healing  people  out  of  the  abundance  of  that 
life  which  he  so  confidently  asserted  and  on  which  he 
made  such  limitless  drafts,  were  often  in  the  approved 
religious  manner,  vague  and  paradoxical.  Nor  did  they 
trouble  themselves  about  consistency  (if  indeed  we  may 
believe  that  any  of  them  have  come  down  as  uttered) 
any  more  than  have  those  of  other  great  energies  before 
or  since.  It  is  impossible  to  formulate  enough  general 
remarks  to  cover  the  whole  of  human  activity  without 
being  inconsistent;  and  fortunately  the  great  dynamic 
personalities  who  have  tried  to  do  so  have  never  dribbled 
away  their  energy  in  mere  carpenter  work.  Thomas  a 
Kempis  alone,  of  all  the  great  souls  who  have  spiritually 
energized  humanity,  is  notable  for  consistency,  and  he 
accomplished  it  only  by  having  a  harp  with  a  single 
string,  the  subduing  of  self.  Jesus  taught  self-expres 
sion  as  well  as  self-mastery;  and  since  he  did  so,  his 
language  could  without  much  difficulty  be  sophisticated 
into  a  battle-cry. 

Despite  the  plentiful  religious  training  to  which  both 
as  slaves  and  women  they  have  been  subjected  in  order 
to  increase  their  submission  to  man's  yoke,  women  as  a 
sex  have  always  been  opposed  to  war.  It  must  be 
admitted,  however,  that  her  penchant  for  uniforms  has 
occasionally  led  her  into  identifying  the  trappings  with 
the  function.  Her  weakness  for  masculine  uniforms  is, 
by  the  way,  very  simply  explained.  They  gratify  her 
taste  for  finery  without  in  the  least  particular  allowing 
the  individual  man  any  scope  for  individuality  in  dress, 
which  she  jealously  guards  as  her  own  prerogative;  and 
they  are  at  the  same  time  a  pleasing  evidence  of  the 
subjection  of  man  to  his  own  institutions  which  she 


Preface  xvii 

herself  has  always  been  encouraging  as  a  step  to  her 
ultimate  subjugation  of  him.  War  itself  she  has  always 
opposed;  and  if  during  all  the  years  of  his  domination, 
it  is  not  likely  that  she  will  care  to  exert  this  particular 
mannishness  in  the  day  of  her  freedom.  However  her 
activities  in  politics  and  business  may  bring  her  to  re 
semble  man  in  superficial  mental  and  even  in  deeper 
temperamental  qualities,  she  will  never  duplicate  the 
folly  of  this,  the  more  obviously  devastating  of  his  lead 
ing  industries.  She  carries  her  house  on  her  back.  She 
will  not  willingly  see  it  imperilled  or  the  work  of  her 
body  destroyed.  It  is  impossible  to  expect  peace  at  the 
hands  of  men;  the  fierce  race-protecting  passion  of 
women  is  the  only  hope  of  the  future  as  far  as  war  is 
concerned. 

It  may  be  too  much  to  expect  that  women  will  long 
defer  the  attempt  to  invent  a  female  god.  Having  now 
political  and  a  partial  industrial  freedom,  they  will 
naturally  desire  to  replace  a  man-made  god  with  one  of 
their  own.  Already  there  are  signs  of  it.  "O  God 
which  art  our  father  and  our  mother,"  was  an  invocation 
beginning  to  be  heard  as  early  as  the  middle  of  the  last 
century.  The  two  fashionable  recently-made  religions, 
Christian  Science  and  New  Thought,  are  women  move 
ments.  The  first,  while  it  introduced  a  new  life  princi 
ple  (or  rather  an  old  one  which  Christianity  as  an 
engine  discarded  before  it  was  tried),  still  adhered 
somewhat  closely  to  the  old  nomenclature  and  ma 
chinery;  but  the  second  separated  itself  still  further 
from  the  last  widely  successful  invention  of  man  in 
the  way  of  gods.  That  women  will  succeed  in  banishing 
what  remains  of  this  male  despot  is  devoutly  to  be 
hoped  in  the  interests  of  genuine  spirituality;  but  that 
they  will  substitute  for  him  a  female  god  is  just  as 
devoutly  to  be  feared  in  the  interests  of  genuine  spirit 
uality.  Nevertheless  the  evolution  is  but  simple  pro 
gression,  from  father  to  father-mother  to  mother-father 


xviii  Preface 

to  mother  unadulterated.  Should  women  commit  this 
mannish  stupidity,  the  spiritual  development  of  the  race 
will  again  receive  a  check. 

One  feels,  however,  that  even  this  regrettable  occur 
rence  cannot  plunge  us  back  into  the  previous  condition 
of  arrested  development.  Out  of  the  Orient  have  come 
all  the  gods  that  have  endured,  and  consequently  they 
are  all  orientals.  The  Christian  religion,  fastening  like 
the  two  new-made  religions  just  mentioned  on  a  form 
then  in  vogue,  inherited  an  oriental  despot  who  dis 
dained  a  slave  as  his  companion.  This  was  bad  enough, 
but  unfortunately  it  straightway  fell  into  the  hands  of 
emasculate  ascetics  who  feared  woman  as  a  companion. 
The  Hebraic  god  was  a  notably  majestic  conception  for 
its  time:  his  misuse  of  the  all-power  with  which  he  was 
endowed  by  the  Hebrews  was  much  less  gross  than  that 
of  other  tribal  gods;  and  though  he  was  endowed 
neither  with  all-love  nor  all-wisdom,  he  was  not 
conspicuously  hateful  nor  short-sighted  except  as  his 
war-making  proclivities  made  him  so.  Jesus,  unversed 
in  man's  mental  habits,  was  apparently  for  throwing 
away  this  conception  almost  in  entirety,  but  his  more 
worldly  executives  had  other  ideas.  Jesus,  the  great 
spiritual  energy  of  no  locality,  did  not  fear  to  be  a 
companion  of  women;  the  orientalized  St.  Paul  did, 
although  he  had  the  masculine  eagerness  to  utilize  their 
services  in  the  new  religion  he  began  to  administrate 
out  of  an  energy  into  an  engine,  out  of  a  principle  into 
a  creed,  out  of  an  emotion  into  a  thought,  out  of  an  ideal 
into  an  idea.  The  endeavor  to  amalgamate  the  Hebraic 
god  with  what  monkish  temperaments  interpreted  to  be 
the  god  of  Jesus  had  aspects  both  frightful  and  ludi 
crous.  The  joining  of  the  two  in  the  dogma  of  the 
church  was  so  crude  in  places  that  the  seamings  still 
leave  fantastic  gaps.  It  was  an  impossible  undertaking, 
of  course,  but  so  inexacting  was  a  mankind  carefully 
swaddled  in  superstitious  ignorance  by  its  exploiters 


Preface  xix 

that  the  combination  lasted  as  long  as  any  other  human 
invention  when  exposed  to  the  mechanical  wear  and  tear 
of  progress.  To  sandpaper  down  the  least  jagged  of 
the  joinings  has  been  the  major  business  of  petty  ec 
clesiastical  diplomats  for  centuries,  the  roughest  of  them 
they  wisely  brazened  out  by  resort  to  paradox.  On  the 
whole,  it  has  been  a  fruitless  endeavor  to  metamorphose 
a  god  of  fear  into  a  god  of  love.  Fortunately  at  the 
very  outset  the  inherent  paganism  of  Europe  proved 
strong  enough  to  enforce  many  modifications  in  monkish 
intention;  and  Christianity  as  a  growing  political  en 
gine  embodied  (with  inimitable  political  acumen,  it  must 
be  owned)  what  it  was  unable  to  obliterate  as  naively 
as  it  juggled  the  Roman  saturnalia  into  the  birthday  of 
its  founder  and  the  plowing  feast  into  Easter — and  so 
inexacting  is  mankind  cradled  in  custom  that  it  occurs 
to  few  to  wonder  why  Jesus  was  born  upon  a  fixed  date 
arid  died  upon  a  movable  one.  Other  modifications 
followed  as  the  antique  inheritance  grew  increasingly 
repellent  to  modern  consciousness,  but  modified  by  pa 
gan  influences  and  later  by  humanitarian  ones  as  he  is, 
he  still  remains  a  male  oriental;  and  if  women  misuse 
their  new  power  by  inventing  a  female  occidental  to 
take  his  place,  it  will  not  however  regrettable  be 
surprising. 

For  the  god  the  monkish  fathers  finally  achieved  of 
the  rough  joining  of  the  Hebraic  and  the  Paulist  inven 
tions  was,  in  spite  of  several  theological  and  ritualistic 
concessions  to  sex,  the  arch  enemy  of  sex  love.  Jesus 
himself  they  represented  as  born  of  no  sex  union  and 
afterwards,  when  pagan  influences  had  finally  forced 
her  into  reluctant  prominence,  his  mother  also.  This 
god  cheapened  and  coarsened,  despised  and  penalized 
the  most  vital  force  of  life  out  of  which  all  the  others 
stem.  The  church  had  even  the  incredible  temerity  to 
announce  that  marriage,  which  it  was  obliged  to  solem 
nize  if  it  would  usurp  all  the  orderly  processes  of  gov- 


xx  Preface 

ernment,  but  prefigured  the  mystic  union  between  Christ 
and  his  disciples — a  conception  as  nauseous  as  it  is 
meaningless.  There  was  no  end  to  the  absurdities  into 
which  it  was  led  in  its  enforced  recognition  of  sex.  It 
was  not  good  for  man  to  live  alone  but  it  was  better 
if  he  could  do  so ;  Heaven  arranged  marriages  but  would 
have  none  of  them;  God  had  pronounced  an  eternal 
curse  against  woman  for  the  sex  union  which  was  now 
sanctified  as  a  sacrament.  To  all  this  degradation 
women  submitted,  for  nothing  was  possible  save  sub 
mission.  Man  alone,  with  or  without  the  aid  of  human 
institutions,  had  been  powerful  enough  to  enslave  her; 
when  he  created  divine  ones,  revolt  became  doubly  hope 
less.  Perhaps  she  recognized  dimly  that  she  was  not 
the  only  one  degraded.  Certainly  she  recognized  as  did 
he,  and  as  usual  even  more  than  he,  that  theories  were 
one  thing  and  practice  was  another.  For  human  history 
has  shown  that  women  will  not  endure  any  yoke  she 
really  recognizes  as  a  sex  to  be  galling.  Sex  love  went 
on  just  the  same,  and  had  she  perceived  it  to  be  penal 
ized  she  would  have  revolted.  She  carried  her  house  on 
her  back.  Had  it  been  really  threatened,  her  fierce 
race-protecting  passion  would  have  made  as  short  work 
of  divine  institutions  as  it  has  of  all  the  human  ones 
which  menace  her  in-turning  proclivities. 

She  did  not  realize  it,  however,  because  just  in  the 
same  way  as  man  made  her  an  accomplice  in  mutilating 
her  body,  so  he  had  made  her  an  accomplice  in  weaken 
ing  her  mind.  But  naturally  in  this  latter  process  he 
had  weakened  his  own  mind  also,  as  if  his  successive 
religions  and  the  defense  of  his  vices  had  not  already 
done  the  job  sufficiently.  The  Germans  afforded  a  con 
vincing  illustration  that  you  cannot  consistently  debauch 
the  minds  of  others  without  debauching  your  own.  That 
country  has  the  credit  of  elevating  propaganda  to  an 
exact  science  in  its  attempt  to  subjugate  all  the  other 
countries  of  the  world.  But  the  sexes  long  ago  em- 


Preface  xxi 

ployed  propaganda  in  their  attempt  to  subjugate  each 
other.  What  they  lacked  in  organized  distribution  was 
made  up  in  the  universality  of  their  methods,  and  they 
compensated  for  breadth  of  invention  by  the  seductive 
ness  of  their  respective  material.  Man,  for  instance, 
for  many  centuries  sowed  diligently  the  quaint  notion 
that  his  honor  was  in  the  keeping  of  his  women.  It 
was  a  convenient  idea,  but  apparently  he  had  not  the 
faintest  suspicion  that  this  left  him  without  any;  nor 
of  how  absurd,  if  his  slave  did  enshrine  his  honor,  was 
his  systematic  attempt  to  deprive  other  men  of  the 
honor  thus  made  so  all-inclusive.  Women  in  return  for 
the  sentiments  men  doled  out  to  them  naturally  capi 
talized  their  chief  distinction.  Among  many  other 
things,  they  built  up  the  notion  that  the  automatic  act 
of  maternity  released  in  them  a  fund  of  god-given  in 
telligence,  however  previously  inactive  this  may  have 
been.  Apparently  they  had  not  the  least  suspicion  that 
men  could  compare  their  behavior  with  that  of  an  earlier 
stage  and  make  up  their  own  minds.  Yet  absurd  as 
the  pretension  was,  it  was  not  only  a  more  prudent  one 
than  man's  but  more  natural  also.  For  the  confidence 
of  a  peculiar  possession  always  gives  an  hallucination 
of  some  magical  property.  It  is  not  long  since  Ameri 
can  congressmen  as  a  body  believed  that  an  immigrant 
underwent  similar  intellectual  expansion  upon  touching 
the  free  shores  of  America.  Apparently,  delivering  a 
child  and  coming  down  a  gangplank  confer  in  them 
selves  little  mental  or  spiritual  development.  Thus  if 
the  vote  has  not  purged  congressmen  of  this  human 
idiosyncrasy  that  there  is  some  inherent  magic  in  a 
distinctive  possession,  we  cannot  expect  that  it  will  make 
women  relinquish  the  idea  that  maternity  potential  and 
actual  has  made  them  finer  and  better  vessels  than  men. 
The  first  decades  of  suffrage  will  doubtless  be  marked 
by  destruction  and  chaos.  Woman  must  not  only  go 
through  the  half-slave  period  but  through  the  period  of 


xxii  Preface 

swaggering  self-consciousness  of  freedom — through 
both  of  which  we  have  seen  the  emancipated  negro 
passing.  It  is  to  be  expected  that  in  these  two  periods 
everything  that  is  petty  and  dishonorable  in  her  heritage 
as  slave  will  come  to  the  surface.  The  slow  education 
of  responsibility  may  skim  it  off,  as  it  is  doing  with 
the  negro  slave  enfranchised.  Providing  of  course  that 
with  equal  steps  man  shears  away  the  remnants  of  his 
age-long  attitude  of  slave-owner.  Brutality  has  made 
women  brutal,  exploitation  has  made  them  exploiters, 
calculating  deference  has  bred  equally  calculating  sub 
mission.  In  addition  to  these  inevitable  reactions,  she 
has  the  ferocity  and  the  inability  for  abstract  considera 
tions  of  justice  which  go  with  the  house-carrier.  This 
is  the  armor  of  Nature;  and  man's  regulations — of  the 
fatuous  injustice  of  which  he  has  at  last  grown  semi 
conscious — have  sharpened  for  her  the  only  weapons  at 
her  disposal,  trickery  and  sex-exploitation.  She  cannot 
on  the  instant  lay  down  her  arms  even  if  she  wanted  to 
do  so,  and  the  majority  of  women  will  not  want  to  do  so. 

They  will  naturally  insist  upon  holding  fast  to  the  old 
and  grasping  the  new  at  the  same  time.  To  expect  them 
to  do  otherwise  is  to  grant  women  a  power  of  reasoning 
which  men  have  never  possessed.  On  the  whole,  the 
chief  woes  of  mankind  have  come  from  seeking  to  graft 
the  new  and  living  shoot  upon  old  and  rotten  stock. 
They  have  continually  carved  out  golden  figure-heads 
only  to  set  them  upon  bodies  of  clay.  But  aside  from 
human  habit,  there  is  a  particular  reason  why  women 
will  not  willingly  abandon  what  they  have  got  and  will 
exhibit  in  the  next  few  years  their  pettiest  features.  At 
this  moment  women  are  at  their  trickiest  because  they 
are  playing  for  their  largest  stakes. 

The  final  years  of  woman's  enslavement  gave  her, 
— in  all  respects  but  the  most  important  one  of  sex- 
experience,  which  indeed  it  curtailed — the  greatest  priv 
ileges  she  has  ever  known.  The  so-called  age  of 


Preface  xxiii 

chivalry,  while  it  allowed  her  sex-freedom  in  fluctuating 
degrees,  allowed  her  little  else  but  sacrificial  garlands. 
The  vow  of  voluntary  personal  service  which  the  mem 
bers  of  the  Knights  Guild  took  upon  themselves  along 
with  other  vows  which  had  the  priority,  furnished  ad 
mirable  copy;  but  we  may  be  sure  that  the  generous 
deeds  it  gave  room  for  figured  more  in  literature  than 
in  life.  Chivalry  was  as  hollow  a  pretense  as  the 
equally  vaunted  protection  which  the  church  afforded 
women  in  marriage.  Man  still  made  a  pawn  of  her, 
and  the  church  substituted  annulment  for  divorce  with 
results  equally  satisfactory  to  him.  There  existed  no 
general  legal  and  social  privilege  for  women,  nor  did 
one  ever  exist  until  the  latter  part  of  the  IQth  Century. 
Then,  in  spite  of  her  political  and  occasional  legal 
disabilities,  women  suddenly  received  social  privileges 
before  unheard  of.  Particularly  was  this  the  case  in 
America,  where  her  easy  arrogance  became  the  amaze 
ment  of  European  men,  more  externally  deferential  and 
far  less  complaisant.  Her  privileges  were  most  ap 
parent  in  the  courts,  where  they  should  have  been  least. 
The  evidence  to  secure  her  conviction  must  be  several 
times  stronger  than  that  which  would  suffice  for  a  man; 
a  male  thief  was  a  thief,  a  female  thief  was  a  klepto 
maniac.  In  most  cases  for  murder  she  was  acquitted  or 
received  a  nominal  sentence;  and  if  by  chance  the  death 
penalty  was  returned  she  was  generally  reprieved;  if  a 
woman  murdered  a  man  it  served  the  brute  right;  if  a 
man  murdered  a  woman  she  was  always  his  victim; 
while  men  could  murder  men  with  impunity  if  they  could 
plead  the  unwritten  law,  they  could  not  with  equal 
safety  murder  their  wives  who  had  been  unfaithful. 
In  society  as  before  the  law,  wherever  moral  responsi 
bility  was  in  question  the  assumption  of  mental  and 
moral  inferiority  was  invoked  not  only  by  wishy-washy 
public  opinion  but  often  by  the  offender  herself.  Yet 
she  immediately  discarded  the  assumption  when  the 


xxiv  Preface 

stakes  were  won.  Like  Lady  Macbeth,  women  allow 
their  nerves  to  overcome  them  only  when  weakness  is 
the  trump  card.  In  nature  there  exists  nothing  so 
preposterous  as  aggressive  weakness;  it  is  a  latter  day 
invention  of  civilization,  the  disconcerting  result  of  the 
humanitarian  sentiments  we  have  been  inoculating  our 
selves  with  for  a  century.  But  the  cannon  by  which  we 
have  leveled  many  of  the  most  odious  of  time-honored 
institutions  has  a  back  kick  which  threatens  to  work 
almost  equal  havoc  with  justice.  For  might  makes  right 
we  have  substituted  weakness  makes  right;  and  weak 
ness  real  and  simulated  has  hastened  to  take  advantage 
of  the  equally  absurd  axiom.  The  purely  social  exac 
tions  of  woman  are  too  many  to  speak  of,  but  are 
perhaps  nowhere  so  apparent  as  in  the  least  grievous 
of  them.  Just  why  woman  thinks  herself  degraded  by 
the  removal  of  a  man's  coat  in  summer  is  possibly 
worthy  of  extended  psychological  research.  It  is  not 
even  a  matter  of  dishabille.  A  lady  of  the  shirt-waist 
era  with  neck  turned  in  and  sleeves  rolled  up  on  account 
of  the  heat  would  passionately  object  to  a  man  clad  in 
a  similar  belt  and  shirt  and  with  cuffs  and  collar  and 
tie  all  in  proper  position;  and  the  several  attempts  of 
the  timid  male  assisted  by  haberdasher's  specialties  to 
adapt  his  costume  to  our  semi-tropical  summer  climate 
have  been  easily  frustrated  by  half-naked  women.  Thus 
from  society's  highest  manifestation  of  order — when 
human  life  stands  before  its  elected  tribunal — to  the 
smallest  instance  of  daily  behavior,  women  have  of  late 
enjoyed  social  supremacy. 

It  is  not  to  be  expected,  then,  that  they  will  discard 
more  privileges  than  the  world  ever  offered  them  before 
now  that  they  have  their  rights.  Some  few  women 
leaders  have  scorned  to  be  privileged,  it  is  true,  but 
suffragists  as  a  class  have  eagerly  taken  advantage  of 
every  privilege  while  clamoring  for  their  just  rights. 
In  England  and  America  they  have  attacked  policemen 


Preface  xxv 

and  cried  "Shame,  would  you  strike  a  woman!"  In 
both  countries  they  have  utilized  sex  appeal  as  well  as 
sex  immunity  and  dressed  for  legislatures  as  they  ges 
tured  for  juries.  Also  they  have  shown  themselves  as 
an  organized  body  to  be  what  every  wise  man  knew 
them  to  be  as  individuals,  keener  and  cleverer  than  men 
in  getting  their  own  way.  In  England  they  have  sys 
tematically  committed  acts  of  violence  and  claimed  ex 
emption  from  prison  regulations  as  political  offenders; 
in  America  they  have  invoked  State  rights  when  they 
served  and  repudiated  them  when  they  did  not  serve. 
It  is  a  rash  man  who  will  engage  that  the  cleverness  of 
women  will  not  next  be  turned  to  the  invention  of  some 
pretext  to  retain  their  privileges  and  exercise  their 
rights  at  the  same  time.  The  course  of  the  Suffrage 
movement  indicates  plainly  that  what  woman  wants  is 
entire  legal,  political,  and  industrial  equality  but  not 
social  equality.  The  social  supremacy  conferred  upon 
her  in  the  latter  half  of  the  19th  Century  she  is 
anxious  to  keep.  Like  the  enfranchised  negro,  she  will 
want  to  go  on  helping  herself  to  her  ex-master's  goods 
when  she  is  getting  her  wages. 

Certainly  men  cannot  prevent  it  as  long  as  woman 
is  willing  to  exploit  her  sex.  Unless,  indeed,  he  re 
taliates  by  systematically  exploiting  his  own.  That 
this,  common  enough  in  individuals,  is  unthinkable  in 
men  as  a  class  is  high  praise  for  the  honor  which  men 
as  a  sex  have  been  able  in  some  fashion  to  scrabble 
together  in  spite  of  the  absurdities  and  brutalities  of 
their  sex  pretensions.  Even  if  it  is  only  the  result  of 
their  male  egotism  and  of  their  economic  freedom,  it  is 
still  commendable.  The  remedy,  if  woman  cares  to 
apply  it,  is  in  her  own  hands.  All  that  men  can  do  is 
to  hasten  the  day  when  she  shall  care  to  apply  it,  by 
washing  himself  clean  of  all  traces  of  slave-owner. 
These  are  many  and  prominent,  although  on  the  whole 
they  are  not  so  important  as  woman's  heritage  of  slave. 


xxvi  Preface 

From  the  bondage  of  each  the  real  emancipation  is  a 
spiritual  one.  Slave-owners  cannot  cease  to  be  slave 
owners  by  fiat  any  more  than  slaves  can  cease  to  be 
slaves. 

Man's  unreasoning  sense  of  property  in  woman  will 
persist  as  long  as  woman  remains  his  accomplice  in  the 
denial  of  her  right  to  sex  experience.  He  demonstrated 
his  proprietorship  in  her  chiefly  by  denying  her  sex 
experience  except  under  conditions  laid  down  by  him 
self.  He  actually  attempted  to  convince  the  house- 
carrier  that  she  had  no  sex  needs  until  he  gave  the  word. 
Fortunately  for  the  future  of  the  race,  men  as  well  as 
women,  his  overweening  project  was  defeated  by  his 
own  dishonesty.  While  he  established  this  right  with 
his  own  women  and  made  it  theoretically  the  law  of 
society,  he  was  assiduously  undermining  it  all  the  time 
with  the  women  of  other  slave  owners  and  convincing 
them  that  they  had  sex  needs  to  which  he  alone  was 
fitted  to  administer.  A  male  Penelope,  he  unravelled 
at  night  what  he  reconstructed  by  day.  Otherwise,  the 
notion  might  have  been  permanently  implanted  in 
women. 

Until  sex  equality  exists,  the  sex  antagonism  which 
makes  women  as  a  class  fiercely  glory  in  exacting  privi 
leges  from  man  will  continue  to  exist.  Her  notion  that 
women  are  socially  superior  is  as  destructive  as  was  his 
notion  that  women  were  in  all  ways  inferior.  Men  in 
according  women  their  political  and  industrial  equality 
have  banished  the  latter ;  only  women  in  according  them 
selves  sex  equality  can  banish  the  former.  The  right 
of  sex  experience  need  not  be  exercised  by  the  individual 
woman  any  more  than  it  is  by  the  individual  man  if  he 
elects  otherwise;  it  is  the  exterior  denial  of  that  right 
which  embitters  and  devastates  the  adult  woman  even 
when  she  knows  it  not.  Men,  it  seems,  are  always 
perfectly  willing  to  accord  the  women  of  other  men 
sex  equality  as  regards  themselves;  it  is  only  with  their 


Preface  xxvii 

own  women  they  hesitate.  But  even  if  man  brought 
himself  to  consistency  in  this  respect,  his  history  in 
sex  matters  since  the  days  of  Adam  is  too  puerile  to 
give  him  any  authority.  It  is  woman  alone,  whose  fear- 
built  opposition  to  sex  equality  counts.  In  at  last 
going  where  she  pleases  to  marry,  she  has  again  taken 
a  step  towards  sex  equality — although  neither  she  nor 
man  perceived  it  when  during  the  nineteenth  century 
this  became  one  of  her  new  privileges.  To  take  the 
remaining  steps  she  must  banish  the  whole  sentimental 
and  moral  machinery  by  which  man  finally  converted 
her  into  his  willing  slave.  It  all  belongs  to  an  era 
when  man  disdained  a  real  union  with  a  dependent  and 
desired  only  some  external  accompaniments  to  that 
union.  The  external  accompaniments  increased  with 
his  increasing  recession  from  the  idea  of  woman  merely 
as  property.  First  a  slave,  then  slave  and  toy,  then 
companion.  But,  except  with  individuals,  the  last  is  not 
yet  in  marriage;  nor  can  be  until  sex  equality  exists. 
Now  that  woman  possesses  rights  and  opportunities 
which  technically  at  least  approximate  equality,  civiliza 
tion  faces  its  best  chance  for  real  progress.  The  wings 
of  the  golden  opportunity  will  be  clipped  if  women 
utilize  it  with  the  stupidity,  dishonesty,  and  commercial 
calculation  which  man  has  invariably  exhibited  in  hand 
ling  his  own  innovations,  or  if  they  insist  upon  retain 
ing  in  their  freedom  sentiments  and  ideas  inculcated  by 
their  servitude. 

But  it  is  idle  to  pretend  that  women  are  not  capable 
of  doing  so,  once  that  they  see  that  their  privileges  are 
involved.  For  even  if  they  had  not  become  by  civiliza 
tion  inherently  tricky,  they  are  by  nature  incapable  of 
abstract  logic.  It  is  true  that  by  virtue  of  the  house 
upon  her  back  woman  has  always  had  logic  enough  to 
perceive  when  man  is  illogical  and  to  take  advantage  of 
it,  but  this  is  the  very  reason  why  she  fails  to  perceive 
when  she  is  illogical  herself.  Enough  for  her  the  logic 


xxviii  Preface 

of  going  on  and  of  carrying  her  house  with  her.  If 
this  be  thought  inadequate  for  politics  and  industry,  she 
can  at  least  retort,  Tell  me  when  man  has  exhibited  so 
much?  Since  first  he  yielded  to  fear  and  invented  a 
god  and  then  sought  to  bluster  it  out  by  making  other 
men  fear  him  in  battle,  man  has  not  much  to  say  by 
way  of  rejoinder.  He  can  be  logical  enough  upon 
invented  premises,  but  the  house  on  her  back  gives 
woman  real  premises  to  look  after.  Certainly,  to  those 
who  used  to  say  that  woman's  place  is  the  home  she 
suddenly  invented  an  answer  as  triumphantly  logical  in 
its  illogicality  as  anything  could  well  be.  To  be  sure 
it  is,  cried  she,  and  woman  carries  it  about  with  her 
wherever  she  goes. 


THE  CRAFT  OF  THE  TORTOISE 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 


ACT  I.— THE  TORTOISE  FINDS  HERSELF 

AK,  Priest  of  Silwa 
MART,  of  Silwa-Land 
EM,  of  Mokwa-Land 
OOD,  of  Silwa-Land 
GARTH,  of  Silwa-Land 
MART'S  BOY 
WOMEN — MEN — BOYS 

ACT  II. — TORTOISE  TURNS  THE  FIRST  CORNER 

AKRA,  a  Neophyte 
ODENA,  the  head  priest 
MAGA,  second  priest 
EMLA,  the  head  wife 
MARTA,  the  second  wife 
GARTHUS,  the  patriarch 
OTHER  WIVES,  HEAD-SLAVES 

ACT  III.— TORTOISE  STRIKES  HER  GAIT 

MARTHA  DE  LA  GARTHELAUD,  the  lady  of  the  castle 

EMELIE    \ 

BLANCHE  /her  damsels 

LIANE  SANS-CEINTRE  ^ 

HELOISE,  ABBESS  OF  ST.  DENIERS  /  her  slsters 

GUILLAUME  DE  LA  GARTHELAUD,  her  husband 

ACRINUS,  Bishop  of  Orleans 

RUDEL,  a  troubadour 

HUGH  DE  LOSAN,  an  esquire 

JEAN,  a  farm  hand 

NURSE 

OTHER  DAMSELS,  YOUNG  MEN 


Cast  of  Characters 

ACT  IV. — TOHTOISE  ON  THE  HOME  STRETCH 

GABETH  GARRITY 
MRS.  BOYER 
EDMUND  ATKINSON 
MRS.  MARTHA  GARTON 
EMMELINE  ARCHER 

The  cast  requires  thirteen  people  and  some  supers. 
The  parts  bracketed  below  are  intended  to  be  played  by  the  same  actor 

EM             ]  MART      ]  GARTH                      ]  AK            ] 

EMLA          I  MARTA    I  GARTHUS                    I  AKRA 

EMELIE       j  MARTHE  j  DE  LA  GARTHELAUD  [  ACRINUS     j 

EMMELINE  J  MARTHA  J  GARRITY                   J  ATKINSON  J 

OOD     \  LIANE  \ 

ODENA  /  MRS.  BOYER  / 


ACT  I 

THE  TORTOISE  FINDS  HERSELF 


THE  CRAFT  OF  THE  TORTOISE 

ACT  I 

THE  DESERT  OF  THE  THREE  OASES 

A  rocky  place  with  the  desert  beyond,  seen  through  the 
tops  of  a  clump  of  cocoa-palms.  From  the  Right,  a 
ledge  of  rocks  leads  upward  until  toward  the  Left  it  falls 
away  abruptly.  Issuing  from  the  base  of  this  cliff  is  a 
spring,  surrounded  with  reeds  and  rushes.  The  spring 
is  banked  up  in  front  by  human  labor.  Beyond  the 
spring  the  forest  begins. 

When  the  curtain  rises,  there  is  standing  stolidly  at 
the  extreme  Left  of  the  stage  a  group  of  women.  They 
are  clad  in  a  coarse  brown  earth-colored  garment  which 
hangs  stiff  and  unbelted  from  the  neck  to  the  ankles,  and 
hobbles  the  legs.  Their  arms  and  feet  are  bare.  They 
have  wooden  buckets  on  yokes,  and  are  waiting  until  the 
spring  is  mended.  From  the  ledge  two  women  are  stag 
gering  under  a  stone  slab.  An  overseer  is  urging  them 
to  their  work  with  a  lash.  He  is  young,  slender,  ef 
feminate,  and  crippled;  his  robe  is  of  brown  stuff  like  the 
women's  but  is  short  and  is  caught  at  the  shoulder  by  a 
thong,  giving  a  resemblance  to  a  skin.  As  the  women 
labor  with  the  stone,  one  of  them  falls  with  a  grunt. 
The  stone  falls  with  her. 

AK.  There!  (He  strikes  the  woman  with  his  lash 
while  the  other  stands  stolidly.)  Up! 

(The  woman  rises  with  difficulty  and  makes  a  sign 
3 


4  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

that  she  has  hurt  her  leg.  It  gives  under  her  as  she  tries 
to  move.  The  overseer  again  strikes  her  as  she  turns  to 
him  rvith  a  sign  of  supplication.  She  tries  to  move  and 
again  her  leg  gives  under  her.  He  pushes  her  out  of  the 
way  with  a  grunt  of  disgust,  and  she  falls.  He  comes 
down  to  the  group  of  women  who  have  been  watching 
this  with  indifference  and  singles  out  the  strongest  and 
the  tallest  of  the  lot.)  You. 

(The  woman  takes  off  her  yoke  and  goes  silently  up 
the  ledge  to  the  stone  slab.  She  raises  her  end  of  it,  but 
the  other  woman  is  not  strong  enough  to  raise  hers.  The 
overseer  after  assisting  her  with  a  lash  or  two,  singles 
out  another  woman  from  the  group  to  aid  her.  The  three 
bear  the  stone  down  and  put  it  into  place  by  the  earth 
embankment  of  the  spring.) 

AK  (standing  upon  it  and  looking  into  the  spring). 
There.  Now  dip  carefully,  the  water  must  be  kept  clean. 
Or  there  will  be  lashes  for  you  all. 

(He  goes  out  Right  over  the  ledge,  looking  at  the 
prostrate  woman  as  he  goes  and  giving  her  a  contemptu 
ous  shove  with  his  sound  leg.  One  by  one  and  mechan 
ically,  the  women  go  to  get  the  water;  they  dip  it  into 
buckets  and  pass  out  Right.) 

MART  (slowly  raising  herself  to  a  sitting  position 
and  looking  after  him,  and  speaking  dully  when  he  is 
out  of  ear  shot).  May  the  lion  claw  your  heart  out,  if 
ever  he  leaps  again ! 

EM  (who,  after  setting  the  stone  in  place,  has  not 
joined  the  others  with  her  yoke  of  buckets,  has  now  come 
to  her  to  help  her  to  her  feet) .  He  hunt  with  the  men  ? 

MART  (as  she  rises  and  tries  her  leg).  Once — be 
fore  you  came.  But  he  never  had  a  hunter's  heart  nor  a 
hunter's  kill.  His  place  was  always  here  among  the 
women.  (She  stands  doubtfully  upon  her  leg.) 

EM.     The  bone?     It  is  not  broken? 

MART.     No.    But  there  is  a  knife  in  it. 

EM.     The  pain  will  go. 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  5 

MART  (with  some  dull  gratitude).  They  do  not  ask 
if  my  bone  is  broken. 

EM  (as  if  in  explanation).  It  is  their  work.  When 
their  work  is  done,  they  only  drop  and  sleep.  Like  fallen 
logs. 

MART.  Have  you,  too,  not  always  worked?  In  the 
land  whence  they  brought  you  ? 

EM.  Who  should  work  but  women?  We  have  not  the 
eyes  to  track  the  beasts  or  the  ears  to  hear  the  snap  of 
the  far-off  twig. 

MART  (still  in  a  voice  without  vitality  but  with  more 
emphasis).  Are  my  man-child's  eyes  and  ears  sharper 
than  hers  who  bore  him?  No,  they  are  trained  to  see 
and  listen,  that  is  all.  To-day,  when  he  can  scarcely 
walk  alone,  they  have  taken  him  into  the  forest  to  teach 
him  the  language  of  the  beasts.  But  for  my  woman- 
child  there  was  only  work.  She  must  pound  the  meal, 
first  with  the  small  stone,  then  with  the  larger.  Until 
she  is  big  enough  to  fetch  water  also.  How  are  we  dif 
ferent  that  we  must  do  naught  but  work? 

EM.  Who  should  work  but  women?  So  speaks  the 
Man-who-keeps-Mokwa-from-anger. 

MART.     Mokwa  ? 

EM.  He  is  the  god  who  sends  the  terrible  noise  and 
the  sharp  light  and  the  great  wind.  They  are  his  yawns 
when  he  wakes  up.  (Proudly.)  This  man  has  found 
out  how  to  sing  songs  to  Mokwa  so  that  he  will  not  wake 
up.  It  is  best  when  Mokwa  sleeps.  For  Mokwa  is  big 
ger  than  men,  and  instead  of  two  arms  he  has  seven. 

MART.     And  this  man? 

EM.  He  alone  has  seen  Mokwa.  For  this,  he  is  very 
wise  and  knows  why  things  are.  He  says  that  women 
were  made  to  work  and  men  to  hunt  and  kill.  That  is 
Mokwa's  desire. 

MART  (bitterly).  Your  Mokwa,  too!  Have  the 
gods  also  women  to  make  their  food?  Do  they,  too,  keep 
all  the  hunting  and  killing  for  themselves  ? 


6  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise       ACT  I 

EM.  It  is  not  wise  to  speak  so  of  a  god.  He  might 
hear  you. 

MART.  The  cripple  Ak  who  flogs  us  to  work  with  his 
whip,  he  could  not  lift  that  stone.  I  could  kill  him  with 
my  naked  hands.  But  if  I  did  so,  they  would  kill  me. 
Yea,  my  own  man-child,  who  but  yesterday  lay  a  soft 
thing  on  my  breast  and  sucked,  he  would  stone  me  with 
the  rest  if  I  should  lift  my  hand  against  a  master.  Yet 
you  and  I  may  only  fetch  their  kill  and  pound  their  meal 
and  carry  water.  Why  should  this  be? 

EM.  The  Man-who-keeps-Mokwa-from-anger  says 
the  sign  is  plain.  Is  it  not  we  who  feed  the  children 
when  they  are  within  our  bodies?  Is  it  not  we  who 
suckle  them?  That  is  the  sign.  Men  must  hunt  and 
kill,  women  must  dig  and  feed.  So  the  world  is  made. 
It  is  the  act  of  a  fool  to  rebel  against  the  way  the  world 
is  made. 

MART.  These  gods  are  all  the  same.  They  may  have 
more  arms  and  eyes  and  ears,  but  they  are  all  men.  That 
is  why  they  have  made  the  world  so. 

EM.  Why  not?  If  they  had  been  women,  they  would 
have  made  the  men  to  work 

MART  (eagerly).  Yes,  yes.  And  women  to  hunt 
and  kill! 

EM.     And  men  to  bear  the  children  also? 

MART.  No,  no!  It  is  nice  when  you  have  borne  a 
child.  For  a  little  while — until  they  have  taken  him 
away.  We  may  no  longer  touch  our  men-children  once 
they  can  walk  without  us.  (Proudly  and  sadly.)  To 
day  my  man-child  walks  alone  with  the  hunters.  He  is 
so  little — he  will  be  tired. 

EM  (wistfully).  Is  it  nice  to  feel  them  upon  the 
breast,  Mart? 

MART.  Ah !  If  they  did  not  beat  us  the  more.  Why 
do  they  beat  us  the  more? 

EM.  Because  then  we  must  touch  their  bodies  so 
often.  Otherwise  we  should  forget  it  is  forbidden.  So 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  7 

says  the  Man-who-keeps-Mokwa-from-anger. 

MART.  Your  women?  Are  they  like  us  in  all  ways 
then  ? 

EM.  Only  you  wear  this  long  heavy  garment.  With 
us,  it  is  so.  (She  indicates}. 

MART  (with  great  curiosity,  not  unmixed  with  dis 
approval)  .  So  ? 

EM.  They  put  this  on  at  once  when  they  captured 
me. 

MART.  Then  your  legs  are  free?  How  queer.  (She 
steps  as  far  as  she  can  in  her  heavy  garment).  I  do  not 
think  I  should  like  it. 

EM.     Why  do  you  wear  this? 

MART.     It  has  always  been.     Silwa  commanded  it. 

EM.     Silwa? 

MART.  He  is  our  god  who  gets  angry.  But  not  in 
the  loud  noise  and  the  sharp  fire.  We  do  not  fear  them, 
for  without  them  the  land  would  die  of  thirst.  When 
we  have  them  we  say  Silwa  laughs  with  his  three  mouths. 
But  when  he  is  angry,  the  ground  shakes  and  the  smoke 
from  his  nose  comes  through  the  mountain  yonder. 

EM.  Three  mouths  and  so  small  a  head?  If  your 
legs  were  free  you  could  work  more. 

MART.  The  Man-who-keeps-Silwa-laughing  said  that 
Silwa  would  be  angry  if  we  made  them  shorter.  It  was 
not  this  man  but  another.  It  is  now  Ak,  his  son,  who 
keeps  Silwa  laughing. 

EM      (much  surprised).     So  puny  and  a  cripple? 

MART  (lowering  her  voice).  When  this  Ak  was 
taken  hunting  he  showed  a  white  heart.  As  he  grew  up, 
he  made  no  kill.  You  see  he  may  not  wear  the  skin  of  a 
beast.  The  masters  were  angry  at  him  and  would  have 
killed  him.  But  his  father  died  and  there  was  no  priest, 
and  he  was  better  than  none  at  all.  Besides,  he  knew 
what  his  father  had  done.  Then  one  day  he  was  seized 
of  a  lion  and  went  to  hunt  no  more.  Now  he  drives  the 
slaves.  But  since  he  showed  a  white  heart,  he  may 


8  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

have  no  children  by  them.  Lest  they  all  turn  out 
women. 

EM.  This  garment,  it  stifles  me!  I  was  not  sorry 
when  your  master  came  and  killed  all  my  men.  I  said, 
at  least  it  will  be  no  worse.  I  did  not  dream  that  the 
legs  would  not  be  free.  But  all  else  is  the  same.  Ex 
cept  for  Silwa  who  is  angry  in  the  shaking  ground, 
instead  of  Mokwa  who  is  angry  in  the  shaking  sky. 
(She  looks  off.)  And  there  is  another  desert,  what  do 
you  suppose  is  beyond  that?  Other  masters  and  other 
slaves  with  another  god  who  gets  angry  still  otherwise? 
(She  turns  suddenly.)  Oh,  what  do  we  wear  there,  do 
you  think?  I  wish  someone  would  capture  me  and  take 
me  there.  Then  perhaps  I  should  wear  something  quite 
different.  Poor  Mart!  Did  Silwa  command  also  that 
you  cut  off  your  hair? 

MART  (Somewhat  imperiously).  No.  I  have  my 
self  cut  off  my  hair.  And  the  other  slaves  have  followed 
after  my  fashion. 

EM      (With    surprise    and    some    contempt).      Why? 

MART.  It  was  ever  in  the  way  of  the  stones  as  we 
pounded  the  meal. 

EM.     Why  did  you  not  bind  it  up? 

MART.     It  was  hot  upon  the  head  as  we  worked. 

EM  (Shaking  down  her  thick  hair  which  falls  to  her 
waist).  See! 

MART  (indifferently).  It  is  troublesome.  It  will 
catch  and  pull. 

EM  (stroking  her  hair).  It  is  so  black  and  it  shines. 
I  liked  it  in  my  other  country  but  here  I  like  it  even 
more.  Since  no  other  woman  has  it.  (She  has  sat  down 
upon  the  slab  by  the  spring  and  now  sees  a  red  flower 
growing  beside  her  hair.)  Oh  see!  It  makes  my  hair 
blacker.  See,  here  is  another.  (She  plucks  them,  knots 
their  long  stems  quickly  and  places  the  chaplet  on  her 
head,  a  flower  at  each  ear.) 

MART  (quickly).     It  is  forbidden. 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  9 

EM.     Forbidden? 

MART.  Silwa  will  no  longer  laugh  if  anything  bright 
be  put  upon  the  body  of  a  slave. 

EM.  But  my  hair  is  blacker  so.  (She  has  plucked 
another  flower  and  holds  it  against  her  hair.)  It  is 
blacker  here  than  at  home. 

MART.     But  it  is  forbidden,  I  tell  you ! 

EM  (smiling).     Mokwa  does  not  forbid. 

MART  (coming  closer  angrily,  and  with  a  feeling  of 
jealousy  awakened  in  her.)  You  will  get  us  all  into 
trouble.  We  shall  be  beaten.  (She  looks  at  Em  threat 
eningly.)  Take  them  off  and  bind  it  up — your  overlong 
bushy  hair. 

EM  (rising  and  returning  her  look  steadily).  I  obey 
masters,  not  slaves. 

MART.  Take  it  off,  I  say.  (Threatening  to  strike 
her.) 

EM  (holding  her  easily  by  her  two  arms  at  shoulder 
length).  You  are  a  child  in  my  hands.  (With  a  sudden 
change  of  voice.)  Yonder  sneaks  the  cripple.  To  see 
if  you  but  pretended  to  be  hurt.  Fall  now  in  my  arms. 
(Mart  falls  in  Em's  arms,  who  lets  her  to  the  ground 
and  turns  to  the  spring  as  if  for  water.  Ak  enters,  and 
reaches  Mart  just  as  Em  turns  back  from  the  spring 
with  a  gourd  of  water.) 

AK  (gazing  at  her,  half  in  anger  and  half  in  fasci 
nation).  Accursed! 

EM  (humbly).  I  know  slaves  may  not  drink  between 
times.  But  she  has  fallen. 

AK  (striking  the  gourd  from  her  hands  with  a  grunt). 
Know  you  not  the  law  of  Silwa !  No  bright  thing  may 
be  put  upon  the  body  of  a  slave. 

EM.  Forgive,  master.  In  my  country  there  was  no 
such  law.  (She  gazes  at  him  without  coquetry  but  with 
child-like  winningness.) 

AK  (gradually  lowering  his  uplifted  lash,  and  in  a 
grudgingly  milder  voice  but  with  incredulity).  In  your 


10  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

country  slaves  may  wear  bright  things?  (At  the  sound 
of  his  voice  she  drops  her  hands,  which  were  about  to 
remove  the  chaplet,  upon  her  head  in  such  a  way  that 
her  arms  make  a  frame  for  it.) 

EM.     Yes,  master. 

AK  (violently).  I  said  slaves  from  other  lands  would 
corrupt  our  customs.  How  else  do  your  slaves  differ 
from  ours? 

EM.     Our  legs  are  free. 

AK  (shocked).     Free?     Sacred  Silwa! 

EM.  And  our  bodies  bare  unto  our  waists.  (She 
draws  her  garment  tight  with  her  hands,  outlining  her 
loins,  Mart  has  raised  her  head  from  the  ground  and  is 
regarding  her  curiously.) 

AK  (with  an  involuntary  start).  So?  (Recovering 
himself.)  And  this  impious  garment,  it  leaves  free  the 
legs,  the  legs  of  a  slave?  It  is  against  nature. 

EM.  It  is  made  of  dry  rushes.  When  we  walk  or 
run,  it  moves  free. 

AK.  Run !  A  slave  may  run !  Have  men  in  your 
country  no  heads?  How  then  is  a  master  privileged 
above  a  slave? 

EM.     She  may  not  hunt  or  kill.     She  may  only  work. 

AK.  So  you  have  some  sense  after  all.  Let  me  tell 
you  that  land  will  perish  where  slaves  may  possess  the 
rights  of  masters.  Small  wonder  we  could  slay  your 
weakling  men.  (Approaching  a  step.)  And  these  ac 
cursed  garments?  How  went  they? 

EM  (repeating  her  gesture).     So,  master. 

AK.     And  they  swayed  as  you  moved?     Swayed? 

EM.  As  the  wind  sways  these  reeds.  (She  brushes 
them  with  her  hand.) 

AK  (voluptuously).  Ah!  (He  approaches  nearer, 
then  turns  as  Mart  rises  to  her  knees.  He  cracks  his 
thong  roughly  and  strikes  Mart.)  Go!  (To  Em.) 
You  will  corrupt  all  our  slaves  with  your  impious  cus 
toms.  (He  dashes  her  chaplet  to  the  ground.)  Go! 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  11 

{He  drives  Mart  with  the  whip  and  follows  her  a  few 
steps,  then  turns  toward  Em.)  When  the  men  come 
back  from  hunting,  you  shall  be  killed.  Meanwhile  re 
turn  not  to  the  other  slaves,  lest  you  contaminate  them. 
(He  approaches  nearer  and  says  meaningly.)  You  shall 
be  killed — in  the  cavern  of  sacred  Silwa.  {He  turns  to 
Mart  again  and  drives  her  out  Right  with  his  whip.) 
Go !  A  country  where  a  slave  may  show  her  legs !  If 
she  knows  she  has  legs,  she  will  some  time  use  them. 

(Em  watches  them  out.  She  picks  up  the  chaplet 
from  the  ground,  regards  it  thoughtfully,  and  replaces 
it  on  her  head.  She  is  trying  to  puzzle  out  the  meaning 
of  Ak's  evident  fascination  in  her  description  of  her 
attire.  She  outlines  her  body  with  her  hands,  as  in  the 
gesture  to  him,  and  wonders  about  it.  She  goes  and  sits 
upon  the  ledge,  under  the  domination  of  some  thought 
she  is  seeking  ta  fathom.  Still  speculating,  she  puts 
back  her  hair  from  her  shoulders,  and  grasping  her  gar 
ment  at  the  neck  she  tears  it  apart  down  to  her  breast. 
Again  she  endeavors  to  fathom  her  thought.  She  rises 
and  outlines  her  body  once  more.  Still  thinking,  she 
goes  and  plucks  several  reeds  and  disappears  back  af 
the  spring. 

After  a  moment  of  silence,  a  man's  head  is  seen  over 
the  ledge  of  rock  at  the  Right.  He  looks  around  cau 
tiously  from  side  to  side,  and  then  he  clambers  a  little 
higher.  He  slides  across  the  top,  so  as  not  to  be  seen 
against  the  sky-line,  and  leaning  over  the  ledge  lifts  by 
a  ring  in  the  top  of  it  a  rectangular  box  wrapped  with  a 
gray-green  covering.  This  he  brings  down  the  ledge, 
still  stealthily  surveying  all  sides.  He  is  almost  spent 
with  fatigue.  Finally,  he  spies  the  spring.) 

THE  MAN  (in  a  voice  parched  with  thirst,  joyfully). 
Water!  (He  sets  down  the  box  and  creeps  down  from 
the  ledge,  toward  the  opening  of  the  spring.  He  crawls 
to  it  and  up  upon  the  stone  slab  and  is  about  to  drink. 
Em's  face  appears  through  the  rushes  on  the  other  side. 


12  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

Her  hair  hangs  upon  her  bared  breast  and  the  chaplet  is 
on  her  head.  The  man  draws  back  and  gazes  at  her  in 
silence  and  in  fear.  Finally,  as  she  does  not  move,  he 
speaks  in  a  hoarse  whisper.)  Alone?  (She  does  not 
speak.)  Where  are  they? 

EM.     They  hunt  and  kill. 

THE  MAN  (with  a  grunt  af  relief.)  Hither.  (He 
draws  back  from  the  spring  without  drinking.  In  a 
moment  she  enters.  A  belt  of  plaited  reeds  is  knotted 
tightly  around  her  loins,  and  she  has  fringed  her  long 
garment  up  to  the  mid-thigh.) 

THE  MAN  (lying  back  exhausted).  Water!  I  die 
with  thirst! 

EM  (taking  up  the  gourd  from  the  ground,  filling  and 
stretching  it  to  him.)  Here,  master. 

THE  MAN   (wondering  at  her  gesture).     Water! 

EM.     It  is  here,  master. 

THE  MAN  (making  as  if  to  strike  her,  but  exhausted, 
he  calls  again  weakly  but  imperiously).  Give  me — to 
drink!  (She  looks  at  him  wonderingly.  He  signs  for 
her  to  come  nearer.  She  does  so,  not  understanding. 

He  goes  on  more  faintly.)  Give  me (Em  timidly 

in  mute  wonderment  holds  the  gourd  to  his  lips.  He 
drinks  eagerly  but  does  not  move  his  hands  to  tilt  the 
gourd.  He  speaks  again  angrily.)  Up !  (She  tilts  it 
and  he  drains  the  gourd.)  Ah!  Slave,  I  could  have 
killed  you  for  your  delay. 

EM.     Forgive,  master,  I  did  not  understand. 

THE  MAN.     Would  you  have  a  master  serve  himself? 

EM.  In  my  country  and  in  this,  a  slave  may  not 
touch  food  and  drink  that  is  the  master's. 

THE  MAN.  A  man  who  hunts  and  kills  be  so  base 
as  to  feed  himself!  What  are  slaves  for? 

EM.  To  work  and  make  the  food.  But  we  may  not 
touch  until  the  master  has  eaten. 

THE  MAN.  I  carry  food  to  my  own  mouth !  Sooner 
death  than  such  dishonor!  Sacred  Salwa!  Have  your 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  13 

men  gourds  for  heads?  If  slaves  make  the  food,  why 
should  they  not  carry  it  whither  it  was  intended  ?  More 
water!  (Em  dips  the  gourd  again.  She  approaches 
timidly  and  is  about  to  hold  it  to  his  lips.  He  jerks 
away  impatiently.)  Do  they  teach  you  nothing?  On 
your  knees,  slave.  That  is  the  way  to  feed  a  man. 
(She  sinks  upon  her  knees  and  holds  out  the  gourd  to 
his  lips.  He  drinks  and  removes  his  face.  He  looks 
steadily  upon  her  with  wonder  and  fascinationf  as  she 
kneels  with  gourd  outstretched.)  Sacred  Salwa!  Who 
is  god  of  this  miserable  country? 

EM.     Silwa-who-laughs. 

THE  MAN.  Does  he  command  that  slaves  go  like 
this? 

EM.  I  am  a  captive  slave.  The  god  of  my  country 
is  Mokwa-who-is-angry. 

THE  MAN.  Does  he  command  that  slaves  go  like 
this? 

EM.     No,  master. 

THE  MAN  (grunting).  Even  false  gods  could  not  be 
so  foolish.  Why  then? 

EM.  I  am  to  be  killed  when  the  masters  return  from 
the  hunt.  I  make  myself  ready. 

THE  MAN  (regarding  greedily  her  partly  bared 
breast).  Put  down  the  gourd.  (She  lowers  it  upon  her 
knees.)  And  so  you  bare  the  breast?  It  is  fitting  for 
a  man,  but  for  a  slave!  Do  you  not  fear  that  Salwa 
will  strike  you  dead  for  your  presumption? 

EM.  Only  now  have  I  heard  of  Salwa.  Mokwa,  the 
god  of  my  country,  is  not  angered  at  bared  breasts  and 
legs  in  a  slave,  but  Silwa,  the  god  of  this  country,  does 
not  smile  at  either.  How  then  do  slaves  go  in  your 
country,  and  at  what  is  your  god  pleased? 

THE  MAN.  With  bare  legs  and  arms  of  course. 
That  she  may  work  the  better.  But  the  breasts,  never  ? 
It  is  sacrilege.  Cover  your  breast.  It  is  unseemly  that 
I  should  look  upon  it. 


14  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

EM  (drawing  her  hair  over  her  bosom).    Yes,  master. 

THE  MAN  (pointing  to  the  box).     Fetch  me  that. 

EM.  Yes,  master.  (She  rises  and  brings  the  box  to 
him,  holding  her  hair  fast  with  one  hand.) 

THE  MAN  (beginning  to  unwrap  the  gray-green  web- 
liJce  cloth).  Think  not  that  I  debase  my  fingers  with  a 
slave's  labor.  This  is  the  bird-net  of  the  man-who- 
keeps-Salwa-from-snoring.  He  is  the  priest  of  Salwa, 
and  it  is  not  fitting  that  a  slave  should  touch  the  net. 

EM.  No,  master.  (The  Man  having  unwound  the 
net,  Em  leans  forward  eagerly  to  look  at  a  crude  wooden 
cage  in  which  are  two  crimson  birds.  As  she  does  so, 
her  hair  falls  away.) 

THE  MAN  (involuntarily,  as  he  sees  her).  Ah! 
(Sternly.)  Cover  your  breast.  It  is  not  seemly  that  I 
should  look  upon  it. 

EM  (drawing  her  hair  together  again).     Yes,  master. 

THE  MAN.  The  Priest-who-keeps-Salwa-from-snor- 
ing  is  a  very  wise  man.  Nevertheless  Salwa  often 
snores  in  spite  of  his  efforts,  for  Salwa  has  seven  noses. 
But  the  priest  is  a  very  wise  man,  and  to  him  the  snores 
have  language.  Last  time  they  bade  him  fetch  birds 
with  blood-colored  wings  to  be  sacrificed  alive  to  Salwa, 
and  then  he  would  stop  snoring.  In  my  country  there 
are  no  birds  with  blood-colored  wings.  But  across  the 
desert,  beyond  this  miserable  land  there  is  a  country 
where  such  birds  live.  I  am  a  great  man,  I.  The  legs 
of  Ood  the  magnificent  are  tireless.  They  are  legs  of 
cocoa-trees.  I  can  go  in  the  desert  for  nights  without 
thirst.  Even  my  spittle  is  more  potent  than  the  spittle 
of  other  masters.  There  is  a  spring  within  my  throat 
that  will  not  dry.  So  who  but  I  should  be  chosen  of 
the  priest  of  Salwa  to  cross  the  desert  that  lies  yonder 
between  my  country  and  this,  and  to  cross  the  desert 
that  lies  yonder  between  this  country  and  that,  and  cap 
ture  the  birds  with  blood-colored  wings  which  will  stop 
Salwa  from  snoring?  Who  but  I,  Ood  the  magnificent! 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  15 

(He  looks  around  cautiously.)   Am  I — are  we  safe  here? 

EM.  Only  once  a  day  do  we  draw  from  the  sacred 
spring.  No  one  will  come  until  the  masters  return  from 
hunting.  The  other  slaves  may  not  come  nigh  me,  for 
I  have  put  bright  things  on  my  body. 

OOD.  Place  then  one  end  of  the  cage  in  the  spring, 
so  that  the  birds  may  drink.  If  you  think  it  unfitting 
that  you  a  slave  should  touch  the  sacrifice  to  Salwa, 
know  that  as  yet  the  birds  are  unaware  of  the  high 
honor  awaiting  them. 

EM.     Yes,  master. 

OOD.  Stay.  Within  my  breast  there  is  a  pouch  with 
meal.  You  may  have  the  honor  to  thrust  in  your  vile 
hand  and  take  out  a  few  grains.  Sprinkle  them  on  the 
floor  of  the  cage. 

EM.  Yes,  master.  (She  approaches  timidly,  while 
the  man  never  lifts  his  eyes  from  her  breast.  She  takes 
the  cage  and  puts  it  in  the  rushes,  which  hide  it  from 
sight,  and  sprinkles  the  meal  upon  it.) 

OOD  (as  she  is  doing  this).  Be  not  emboldened  by 
my  favor,  only  it  is  not  fitting  that  a  master  feed  a  bird. 
It  is  less  unseemly  that  a  slave  should  touch  a  master 
than  that  a  master  should  feed  anything.  (As  she 
kneels  before  him.)  What  do  you  want? 

EM.  To  be  beaten,  master.  I  have  touched  your 
sacred  person. 

OOD.  But  I  waived  my  rights.  I  told  you  to. 
(Grandly.)  You  are  forgiven. 

EM.  In  my  country  and  in  this,  when  a  slave  has 
touched  the  sacred  person  of  her  master,  she  is  beaten. 

OOD.  And  in  mine  also.  But  the  masters  of  both  of 
your  barbarous  countries  have  no  nice  distinctions. 
They  have  gourds  for  heads.  And  their  gods  are  no 
gods.  What  are  their  silly  names? 

EM.     Mokwa-who-is-angry  and  Silwa-who-laughs. 

OOD  (mimicking).  Mokwa,  Silwa!  Their  very  names 
show  it.  How  long,  O  mighty  Salwa,  wilt  thou  endure 


16  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

these  false  gods?  Raise  your  hands,  slave,  and  pray  to 
Silwa  -who-snores. 

EM.     A  slave?     It  is  not  fitting. 

OOD.  Not  fitting!  Do  you,  a  slave,  dare  tell  me 
what  is  not  fitting!  They  have  no  sense  of  fitness  any 
where  but  in  my  country.  Do  as  I  bid  you. 

EM  {still  on  her  knees,  raising  her  hands).  O  Salwa 
who  snores ! 

OOD  {staring  at  her  breast  greedily  as  her  hair  falls 
away).  Come  with  me  to  my  country.  You  look  a  slave 
who  would  not  drag  the  feet  of  a  man. 

EM  (eagerly).  Yes,  master,  I  am  strong.  Now  my 
legs  are  free,  I  can  go  swiftly. 

OOD.  I  am  a  mighty  warrior  and  I  have  killed  many 
masters.  I  am  six  masters  in  one,  for  the  slaves  of  five 
have  I  and  I  am  the  sixth  with  slaves  already  of  my 
own.  Was  there  any  such  in  the  country  of  your  miser 
able  Mokwa? 

EM.  We  had  no  separate  masters.  All  were  our 
masters. 

OOD.  Had  they  gourds  for  heads?  How  could  they 
know  who  was  the  greatest  fighter? 

EM.  Mokwa  commanded  that  they  be  held  in  com 
mon,  and  all  live  in  common. 

OOD.  Your  Mokwa  is  a  fool.  For  why  should  men 
fight  if  they  cannot  bring  home  trophies  or  keep  them 
when  they  get  them  there?  No  wonder  they  gave  up 
fighting.  And  so  when  they  came  from  this  country, 
your  masters  were  but  babes  in  their  hands. 

EM.     Yes,  master. 

OOD.  I  told  you  your  Mokwa  could  not  see  the 
length  of  his  paltry  one  nose.  And  now  since  there  are 
no  more  of  your  masters,  there  is  no  more  of  your  Mok 
wa.  Any  fool  would  have  known  what  would  happen. 
Men  will  not  fight  unless  they  can  have  trophies. 

EM.     And  are  women  trophies? 

OOD.     You,  slave,  are  the  trophy  of  the  weakling  who 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  17 

conquered  your  old  master.  When  you  return  with  the 
mighty  warrior  who  stands  before  you,  you  will  be  his 
trophy.  I  will  make  you  head  slave,  and  you  shall  tend 
the  others. 

EM  (wonderingly) .  A  slave  tend  the  others?  Here 
we  are  all  alike. 

OOD  (surprised}.  Who  sees  that  you  do  your  work 
and  whips  you? 

EM.     A  master. 

OOD.  A  man  who  attends  slaves,  who  does  not  hunt 
and  kill?  Sacred  Salwa,  that  a  man  should  be  so  de 
based  ! 

EM.  He  was  crippled  by  the  paw  of  a  lion.  He 
may  no  longer  hunt  and  kill. 

OOD.  Then  he  should  have  been  slain.  It  is  not 
fitting  that  slaves  should  see  a  master  who  has  become 
like  themselves.  What  a  country!  Have  you  no  sense 
of  fitness  whatever?  Come  with  me  to  my  country. 
There,  you  will  tend  all  my  other  slaves  and  whip  them 
as  much  as  you  please.  There  you  will  have  a  master 
who  will  permit  you  to  pray  to  his  god.  A  master  with 
legs  like  cocoa-trees.  Who  will  permit  you,  on  occa 
sions  and  for  fit  reasons,  to  touch  his  sacred  person  with 
no  beating  afterwards.  What  more  could  you  ask? 

EM  (joyfully).    And  the  legs  are  free! 

OOD.  You  will  find  we  know  what  is  fit  for  slaves 
in  my  country.  Above  all  you  will  have,  as  you  saw,  a 
master  who  will  permit  you  to  feed  him. 

EM  (blurting  out  with  a  sudden  fall  from  her  eager 
ness).  But — but  to  carry  food  and  drink  to  his  lips! 
It  makes  a  master  a  child.  He  is  no  longer  a  man. 
Even  here  we  do  not  have  to  do  that. 

OOD  (drily,  after  a  moment  of  anger).  Even  here 
you  are  to  be  killed.  You  will  like  that  better? 

EM.     Yes,  to  be  killed  is  better  than  that. 

OOD  (angrily).  You  and  your  distinctions!  A  slave 
has  no  right  to  prefer  death  to  anything  whatever. 


18  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

EM  (timidly).  They  will  come  back  from  hunting. 
I  would  not  have  them  kill  you. 

OOD.  Kill  me?  The  mightiest  warrior  of  Salwa- 
who-snores !  Your  slave-men  of  this  miserable  country 
of  Mokwa,  or  is  it  Silwa  who  giggles.  Kill  me  whose 
very  spittle  is  a  spring  that  drieth  not!  (With  a  slight 
anxiety.)  But  I  may  not  venture  upon  the  desert  until 
nightfall.  Tell  me  where  I  may  hide  until  then,  and 
do  you  steal  out  in  darkness  and  come  with  me.  I  ask 
who  have  only  commanded  slaves  before,  as  you  have 
found  favor  in  my  sight.  Is  there  a  place  to  hide? 

EM.  Behind  the  spring  is  a  cave  in  the  rock.  Go 
far  within.  It  is  sacred.  No  one  enters  but  the  Man- 
who-keeps-Silwa-laughing. 

OOD.  But  come  with  me  now.  Remember  they  are 
going  to  kill  you.  (He  starts  for  the  cage.) 

EM  (listening).     Go  quickly.     I  will  hide  it. 

OOD.     Come. 

EM.     No,  I  will  not  come  now. 

OOD.     Then  at  nightfall? 

EM.     If  they  do  not  kill  me  before,  I  will  come. 

(He  goes  out  Left  and  is  seen  in  a  moment  creeping 
back  of  the  spring.  Alone,  she  listens.  She  shows  that 
although  they  are  coming,  they  are  not  yet  upon  her. 
She  goes  and  takes  out  the  cage,  and  thrusting  her  hand 
within  draws  out  one  of  the  birds  and  holds  it  against 
her  hair.  She  puts  back  the  bird  again  and  is  about  to 
take  up  the  cage  when  her  eyes  fall  upon  the  bird  net. 
She  takes  it  up  and  holds  it  caressingly  about  her,  then 
throws  it  over  her  head,  and  goes  to  look  in  the  spring. 
But  she  hears  the  sound  of  the  approaching  hunters, 
and  taking  the  cage,  goes  quickly  over  the  ledge 
Right. 

From  the  Left  come  in  Garth  and  several  hunters. 
They  are  each  clad  in  a  single  skin  arranged  with  a 
thong  over  the  shoulder  as  was  Ak's  brown  cloth  gar 
ment.  They  carry  a  quiver  with  arrows  and  a  bow. 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  19 

Among  them  are  two  or  three  boys  who  carry  slings;  one 
of  them  is  very  young.  Garth  has  a  stone  pick.  He  is 
a  brawny  and  stupid-looking  man,  with  a  sluggish  voice 
and  a  slow-moving  mind.  As  they  come  in  Left,  the 
women  herded  by  Ak  enter  and  huddle  at  the  Right. 
As  Garth  enters,  they  kneel.) 

GARTH  {intoning  zestfully).  Bid  the  slaves  bring  in 
the  kiU. 

AK  (to  the  women,  intoning).  The  master  bids  bring 
in  the  kill. 

THE  WOMEN  (intoning).  But  we  have  neither  eyes 
nor  ears  to  lead  us,  nor  noses  to  smell  the  way. 

THE  BOYS  (coming  past  Garth  to  the  middle  of  the 
stage  and  droning  wearily).  O  Ak,  we  will  be  their 
eyes  and  their  ears  and  their  noses. 

AK  (cracking  his  whip).  Follow,  O  slaves,  the  steps 
of  the  young  masters  to  the  game  where  it  lies. 

THE  WOMEN.  The  slaves  hear,  O  young  masters. 
(They  rise  and  follow  the  boys  out.  Then  Ak  goes  to 
talk  eagerly  with  Garth.  As  Mart  limps  forward,  the 
youngest  of  the  boys  turns  to  look  at  her  curiously.  He 
is  very  weary.) 

THE  BOY  (with  some  timid  and  awkward  shame). 
You  can  never  walk  so  far,  slave.  (Approaching  a 
step).  You  have  hurt  your  leg? 

MART  (falling  on  her  knees  impulsively  and  in  grati 
tude).  It  is  nothing.  You  are  tired. 

THE  BOY  (indignantly).     Tired! 

MART.  Let  me  carry  you,  my  little  —  master. 
(As  the  boy  comes  toward  her  a  step  involuntarily,  she 
catches  at  him.) 

THE  BOY  (struggling  to  free  himself).  No,  no! 
There,  you  have  touched  me !  Now  you  must  be  beaten. 
(He  strikes  her  and  bursting  into  tears  runs  out.  She 
rises  silently  and  follows  limping.) 

AK  (turning  from  his  excited  speech  to  Garth  in  time 
to  catch  the  end  of  this  scene).  I  told  you  what  it 


20  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

would  be  to  have  a  strange  slave.  She  has  corrupted 
them  all.  She  must  be  killed. 

GARTH.  Too  many  of  our  slaves  merit  killing  at  thy 
hands,  O  Ak.  I  don't  mind  one  or  two  to  keep  up  disci 
pline.  But  there  are  now  over  many — who  have  been 
put  to  death  in  thy  cave. 

AK.  Give  me  but  her  and  I  will  ask  no  more.  She 
will  corrupt  all  if  she  live. 

GARTH.  If  she  die,  she  will  bring  us  no  men-chil 
dren.  Thou  takest  away  our  breeders  of  men-children 
— what  dost  ihou  give  in  return? 

AK  (furiously).  It  is  your  own  law.  Do  you  ques 
tion  the  right  of  the  priest  of  Silwa,  O  Garth? 

GARTH   (hastily).     I  question  not. 

AK.     Then  she  must  be  killed. 

GARTH.  Well,  after  we  have  had  visitors.  Since  I 
got  her,  none  have  passed  our  village,  friend  or  foe — 
what  is  a  trophy  that  is  not  seen?  But  it  is  a  pity  to 
kill  her.  She  is  the  tallest  and  strongest  of  the  slaves 
and  should  bring  us  fine  men-children. 

AK.  Once  this  mutiny  of  women  begins  no  man 
knows  where  it  will  end. 

GARTH.  Tomorrow  or  another  day,  thou  shalt  kill 
her.  When  she  has  been  seen.  Instead  of  inventing 
new  rules  for  slaves  to  be  slain  for  breaking,  why  can't 
you  think  up  more  things  like  that  Fetching  In  The 
Kill?  It's  very  stupid  when  one  is  not  hunting.  Little 
things  like  that  make  home  interesting. 

AK  (eagerly  and  greatly  struck  with  his  own  inven 
tiveness}.  Give  me  her  at  once,  and  I'll  invent  a  death- 
ceremony  for  slaves. 

GARTH  (plainly  tempted).  You  must  give  me  more 
to  do  than  in  the  other. 

AK.  Yes,  yes.  You  and  I  shall  do  everything.  The 
slave  shall  do  nothing  at  all  but  die.  It  would  make 
her  feel  too  important. 

GARTH.     Well,  invent  it  at  once  and  we  can  run  it 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  21 

over.  But  we  will  kill  her  after  we  have  had  visitors. 
Meanwhile  you  may  beat  her.  Fetch  her  to  me. 

(Ak  starts  to  go  to  look  for  her.  At  this  moment, 
both  see  her  coming  over  the  ledge.  She  has  torn  the 
wings  from  the  birds  and  has  hung  them  to  her  chaplet. 
With  a  knotted  reed  she  has  hung  the  bird  net  veil-wise 
from  her  nose  down,  Eastern  fashion.  It  sways  as  she 
walks,  revealing  her  legs  through  her  fringed  garment 
and  a  glimpse  of  her  breast.  Both  men  stand  back  in 
consternation.  She  walks  slowly  down  the  ledge  but 
with  a  -firm,  free  step.  In  her  stark  solemnity  she  is 
almost  majestic.) 

AK  (recovering).  Blasphemy!  (More  excitedly  to 
Garth.)  Away! 

GARTH  (stammering).  No.  Hither,  slave.  (She 
approaches  and  stands.  He  gazes  at  her  earnestly.) 
Why  have  you  put  this — this  thing  upon  you? 

AK.  Look  upon  her  not.  Silwa  will  be  angry. 
Speak  not  to  her  until  she  goes  in  a  respectable  manner. 

GARTH.     Silence.     Why  ? 

EM.  I  would  hide  my  face  from  the  sight  of  my 
master.  Because  I  have  sinned  against  Silwa  in  put 
ting  the  bright  things  upon  a  slave's  body. 

AK.     Believe  her  not.     It  is  a  trick. 

EM.  I  would  be  seen  of  masters  nevermore — until  I 
am  killed. 

GARTH.  Take  off — that  thing.  (Em,  after  a  mo 
ment  removes  it  and  lets  it  fall  upon  her  arm,  partly 
draping  her  legs.  With  the  other  hand  she  sweeps  her 
hair  across  her  breast.)  Why  have  you  cut  away  your 
garment  from  your  legs?  The  legs  of  slaves  have  been 
swaddled  since  the  memory  of  man  in  the  country  of 
Silwa. 

EM.  I  would  be  killed  with  my  legs  free.  So  slaves 
have  been  since  the  memory  of  man  in  the  country  of 
Mokwa. 

AK.     Sacrilege!     She  says  it  is  better  to  be  killed  in 


22  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

Mokwa's  way  than  in  Silwa's!  (He  rushes  toward  her 
with  whip  raised.  Em  removes  her  hand  from  her  hair 
and  stretches  out  both  arms  to  Garth.) 

GARTH  (recoiling  and  stammering).  Why  have  you 
bared  your  neck?  Contrary  to  all  custom  of  slaves  since 
man  knows  not  in  this  land. 

EM.     I  would  make  ready  for  death. 

AK.     Believe  her  not. 

GARTH  (noting  for  the  first  time  the  wings).  What 
are  these  in  your  hair?  (Ak  is  amazed.) 

EM.  The  wings  of  the  blood-red  birds  beyond  the 
desert. 

GARTH.     You  said  she  plucked  them  from  the  spring. 

AK.     Whence  came  they?     (Em  is  silent.) 

GARTH.     Speak ! 

EM.  I  brought  them  from  my  country.  Hid  in  my 
hair. 

AK.  The  blood  still  drips  from  them.  They  were 
just  torn  off. 

GARTH.     Speak ! 

EM.  Two  birds  lit  at  the  spring  to  drink.  They 
were  so  weary  with  the  desert  I  caught  them  in  my 
hands. 

AK.     Where  are  the  bodies?     (Em  is  silent.) 

GARTH.     Speak!     (Em  is  silent.) 

AK.     Kill  her!     (He  rushes  upon  her.) 

GARTH.     Back!     (He  pushes  him  aside.) 

AK.     Would  you  be  defied  by  a  slave? 

GARTH  (puzzled  at  himself).  We  will  kill  her  to 
morrow — or  later. 

AK.     At  least  I  will  beat  her  now. 

GARTH  (again  pushing  him  aside).  No.  I  will  beat 
her. 

AK  (astounded).  Sacred  Silwa!  With  your  own 
hands  ? 

GARTH.     You  will  beat  her  over-much. 

AK.     What  has  come  to  you? 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  23 

GARTH  (puzsled  at  himself).  I  would  not  have  her 
sicken.  She  is  the  tallest  and  strongest  of  the  slaves 
and  there  is  none  like  her  in  the  land.  She  must  be 
seen  at  her  best.  Then  when  she  is  seen,  you  may 
kill  her. 

AK.     But  no  head-man  may  come  this  way  for  weeks. 

GARTH.  Then  we  will  go  to  them.  This  slave  must 
be  seen  by  all.  She  is  taller  and  stronger  than  any  of 
theirs. 

AK,  She  is  the  same  as  she  was  this  morning.  It  is 
the  way  she  goes. 

GARTH.  The  way  she  goes?  (Studying  her.)  It 
may  be. 

AK.  She  must  take  them  off  at  once  and  put  on  the 
slave  garment. 

GARTH.  If  it  be  these  things  as  you  say,  they  will 
deceive  the  eyes  of  the  other  head-men  as  they  have 
mine.  I  shall  have  great  credit  for  so  tall  and  strong  a 
slave.  Leave  them  on. 

AK.  Leave  them  on!  Are  you  mad?  Let  but  the 
other  slaves  see  her,  she  will  corrupt  them  all. 

GARTH  (after  some  thought).  No,  I  will  say  that  I 
have  hidden  her  face  as  a  badge  of  her  shame.  (He  is 
triumphant  at  discovering  a  reason  for  having  his  own 
uneasy  way.)  You  see,  she  herself  wished  to  atone  for 
her  crime.  There  is  no  deep-rooted  rebellion  in  her. 
(To  Em.)  Put  on — that  thing.  (Em  resumes  her  veil.) 
Yes,  it  makes  her  taller.  I  shall  have  great  credit  for 
so  tall  a  slave.  Besides,  it  was  never  done  before  and 
will  attract  more  attention  to  her ! 

AK  (controlling  his  anger  and  suddenly  assuming  his 
priest's  voice).  Silwa  will  never  laugh  again.  Your 
meal  will  fail  in  the  drought,  your  sacred  spring  will  be 
dried  up.  You  shall  take  no  more  slaves  captive  and 
your  slaves  will  fall  unto  others.  Because  you  have 
permitted  the  law  of  Silwa  to  be  broken,  these  things 
shall  be.  (Garth  wavers  and  hesitates.  Ak  seeing  this, 


24  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

increases  his  impressiveness.)  She  is  the  last  your 
hands  will  ever  take,  unless  you  now  command  that  the 
priest  of  Silwa  kill  her  for  her  impiety.  Boast  now  the 
tallness  and  strength  of  your  captive,  if  you  will,  O 
Garth.  She  is  the  last.  (Garth  is  torn  between  religion 
and  desire.  Ak,  perceiving  his  approaching  triumph, 
continues  unctuously.)  Unless  Silwa  give  now  a  sign 
to  spare  the  life  of  a  slave  who  has  offended  him,  she 
must  be  taken  to  his  cave  and  killed  there  that  we  escape 
his  wrath.  (After  a  moment  in  a  frenzy.}  Kill  her  if 
there  be  no  sign.  Is  there  a  sign,  O  Silwa? 

EM  (after  a  moment  raising  her  arms  in  his  attitude) . 
Master,  I  hear  the  voice  of  Silwa!  (They  look  at  her 
in  astonishment).  In  the  cavern  of  Silwa  is  a  captive 
your  hands  shall  take.  This  is  the  sign. 

AK.     Believe  her  not!     It  is  a  trick! 

GARTH.     Small  trick  in  that.     We  shall  soon  find  out. 

AK.  Silwa  speak  to  the  ears  of  a  slave?  Why,  a 
slave  has  no  ears. 

EM.     Send  to  see. 

GARTH  (after  a  moment  of  indecision,  signals  to  Ak). 
Go! 

EM.  It  is  no  slave.  He  will  break  this  cripple  like 
a  straw,  or  else  run  easily  away  from  him.  (Ak  who 
is  starting  to  go  is  furious  but  nevertheless  pauses  pru 
dently.  Garth  is  about  to  go.)  Master,  I  would  not 
have  him  kill  thee.  He  has  legs  of  cocoa-trees. 

GARTH  (blustering).  The  arm  of  Garth  is  a  lion's 
paw.  He  will  go  single-handed. 

EM  (with  hands  uplifted).  The  Voice!  Silwa  bids 
thee  take  others  and  surround  him.  And  to  kill  him  not 
until  the  Voice  speak  again. 

GARTH  (awed  and  not  at  all  averse  to  company).  I 
obey  the  Voice.  (He  goes  Left.) 

AK  (creeping  up  to  her,  venomously}.  If  this  be  or 
be  not,  yet  shall  he  kill  you — when  he  has  made  his 
boast  of  you. 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  25 

EM.  Until  then,  O  cripple,  limp  not  near  me.  For 
before  I  die  at  his  hands  shall  you  die  at  mine. 

AK  (stammering).     I — I  am  sacred. 

EM.     Not  from  me. 

AK.     Silwa  speaks  to  me. 

EM.     And  to  me  also. 

AK  (trying  to  decide  what  course  to  pursue).  Your 
ears  are  keen. 

EM.  It  is  the  bright  things  I  have  placed  above 
them. 

AK  (in  astonishment,  and  fearing  that  they  may 
really  have  conferred  some  power  upon  her).  The 
bright  things ! 

EM.     Why  should  he  forbid  but  for  a  reason? 

AK  (baffled  but  deciding  to  end  her  pretensions). 
There  is  no  reason. 

EM.     Lest  slaves  should  hear. 

AK.  But  slaves  have  plucked  flowers  before.  That 
is  why  I — why  Silwa  forbade  it.  No  slave  has  ever 
heard  before. 

EM.  These  come  from  over  the  desert.  Only  these 
have  the  power. 

AK  (snarling,  convinced  against  his  will).  The  mas 
ter  shall  tear  them  off  and  your  ears  with  them. 

EM.  The  blood  has  dripped  within  my  ears.  I  shall 
always  hear. 

AK.     Silwa  shall  command  to  slay  you. 

EM.  Perchance.  But  I  shall  not  be  slain  until  I 
am  made  a  trophy.  Perchance  in  the  meantime  I  shall 
hear  the  voice  of  Silwa  commanding  that  I  slay  you. 

AK  (screaming).     But  I  am  sacred. 

EM.  From  him  but  not  from  me.  I  have  heard  the 
Voice  also. 

AK  (rage  and  fear  carrying  him  beyond  prudence). 
You  heard  no  Voice.  There  is  no  Voice. 

EM.  Were  there  no  Voice,  you  would  have  been  slain 
long  ago  when  your  leg  was  crippled.  Masters  should 


26  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

hunt  and  kill.  If  you  say  there  is  no  Voice,  what  then 
will  keep  you  alive? 

AK.     You  dare  speak  thus  to  a  master? 

EM  (quietly).  The  Voice  shall  say  to  Garth  it  is 
not  fitting  that  slaves  should  see  a  master  who  has  be 
come  like  themselves.  (Ak  sees  the  point  of  this  at 
once,  collapses  from  his  position,  limps  up  and  down  in 
speechless  fury.  After  a  moment  he  devises  a  plan  and 
approaches  her.) 

AK  (cunningly).  Listen.  Silwa  shall  demand  that 
you  be  his  priestess. 

EM.     What  then? 

AK.  Then  you  will  do  no  work  but  tend  the  other 
slaves.  (Lustfully.)  At  nightfall  come  to  me  in  the 
sacred  cavern.  There  we  will  plan  together  the  next 
Voice.  You  and  I.  Silwa  shall  so  order  that  little  by 
little  we  shall  rule  this  land.  And  you  shall  grind  and 
fetch  no  more. 

EM.  If  I  am  free,  O  Ak,  I  shall  not  look  to  a  master 
who  is  no  master. 

(Enter  Garth  and  other  men  bringing  in  Ood  bound.) 

OOD  (starting  back  at  seeing  her  in  the  veil  and  with 
the  wings).  Sacrilege! 

GARTH  (jealously).  He  has  not  the  legs  of  cocoa- 
trees  ! 

EM  (kneeling  to  him  with  arms  outstretched).  I  claim 
the  sign,  master. 

GARTH.  You  shall  not  die.  Neither  now  nor  next 
week.  (Turning  to  Ood  and  plunging  at  once  into 
boasting  his  trophy.)  Behold  my  slave,  the  slave  of 
Garth  the  mighty.  Who  put  to  death  her  mighty  mas 
ters  one  and  all.  They  were  tall  and  strong  for  masters 
as  she  is  tall  and  strong  among  slaves.  Their  legs  were 
like  cocoa-trees. 

OOD  (angrily).  Have  you  no  sense  of  fitness  in  this 
barbarous  land?  Will  you  allow  a  slave  to  bare  her 
breasts  to  you,  in  daylight  and  in  plain  sight?  To 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  27 

remind  a  master  of  the  time  when  he  lay  thereon — a 
slave  to  a  slave?  (Garth  is  impressed  with  this  reason 
ing.)  Kill  me  if  you  will,  but  do  not  allow  all  sacred 
custom  and  fitness  to  perish. 

AK  (angrily).  We'll  take  care  of  our  own  customs. 
Who  then  is  the  god  of  your  miserable  country? 

OOD  (proudly).     Salwa-who-snores. 

AK  (mimicking).  Salwa!  O  Silwa-who-laughs,  how 
long  wilt  thou  endure  these  false  gods?  You  talk  of 
fitness  and  you  have  a  god  who  snores ! 

OOD  (scorning  him,  to  Garth).  I  am  Ood  the  mag 
nificent.  Take  me  to  the  head  man  of  this  village. 

GARTH.  I  am  Garth  the  mighty.  My  arm  is  the 
paw  of  the  lion.  I  am  the  head  man  of  this  village. 

OOD.  Sacred  Salwa!  And  you  let  this  weakling 
cripple  raise  his  uncracked  voice  in  your  presence?  He 
should  have  been  slain  when  he  was  crippled.  He 
should  have  been  slain  before  he  was  crippled.  He  is 
neither  slave  nor  master.  He  is  an  it. 

AK  (screaming).  I?  The  go-between  of  almighty 
Silwa  ? 

OOD  (mimicking).  Silwa!  Almighty  indeed — since 
he  is  served  of  crippled  weaklings.  (  To  Garth) .  Have 
you,,  I  say  again,  no  sense  of  fitness  in  this  barbarous 
land?  Even  a  false  god  should  have  a  fit  go-between. 

AK.     Kill  him! 

GARTH.     Silence ! 

OOD  (shocked).  Who  is  this  god  of  yours  that  you 
may  bid  his  priest  be  silent?  It  is  fit  to  slay  him  for 
he  is  an  it;  but  if  you  let  him  live,  it  is  not  fit  that  you 
should  silence  him.  Priests  may  talk  all  the  time  if 
they  so  desire.  I  am  Ood  the  magnificent,  you  are 
Garth  the  mighty.  We  are  two  men  together.  Send 
now  this  it  away  that  we  may  speak  without  interruption. 

GARTH  (after  a  moment  of  speculation ,  motioning  Ak 
to  be  silent).  Speak!  He  remains. 

OOD.     My  legs  are  like  cocoa-trees.     Even  my  spit- 


28  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise       ACT  I 

tie  is  more  potent  than  the  spittle  of  other  hunters.  In 
my  throat  is  a  spring  that  drieth  not.  Therefore,  have 
I  traveled  far  and  wide  across  many  deserts  to  many 
lands.  I  have  been  to  all  the  lands  there  are.  And  I 
tell  you  that  nowhere  have  I  seen  a  slave  who  may  bare 
her  breast  before  the  face  of  her  master.  I  am  about 
to  die,  but  I  speak  for  the  future  of  the  race.  Your 
god  is  a  false  god  well  served  of  its,  your  men  have 
reeds  for  sinews,  your  arm  is  the  paw  of  a  monkey  and 
not  of  a  lion. — still  such  as  ye  are,  ye  are  men  and  mas 
ters.  How  long  will  ye  be  so  if  your  slaves  may  mock 
you  with  a  recollection  of  your  time  of  weakness  ?  When 
I  do  not  return,  my  people  will  come  hither  and  slay 
you  all — so  that  it  matters  little  if  your  slaves  mock 
one  month  or  two.  But  your  slaves  will  not  be  slain — 
they  will  be  taken  captive.  And  though  they  will  no 
where  else  be  allowed  to  go  so  shamelessly,  they  will 
remember  and  talk  to  the  other  slaves.  Such  is  their 
nature.  And  thus  will  they  corrupt  the  world  and  there 
will  be  no  masters  on  that  when  all  slaves  shall  remem 
ber  that  their  masters  were  once  slaves  to  slaves.  I 
speak  for  the  future  of  the  race  of  masters.  A  slave's 
breast  must  not  be  bared.  Her  legs,  yes.  Her  breast, 
no. 

AK.     Her  legs  neither! 

OOD.     Silence,  it! 

AK  (furiously}.  How  dare  you  silence  me!  I  am 
a  priest. 

OOD.     I  may  silence  you,  but  he  may  not. 

GARTH  (puzzled  and  much  interested}.  How  do  you 
make  that  out? 

OOD.  He  is  no  priest  of  mine.  What  is  unfitting  for 
you  is  fit  for  me. 

GARTH  (slowly  impressed  with  this  reasoning}.  That 
is  very  interesting. 

OOD.  But  I  say  it  is  not  fit  that  a  god  however  false 
be  served  by  such  a  creature  as  this. 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  29 

GARTH.  It  is  not  convenient  to  have  a  hunter  for 
a  priest.  We  need  all  the  men  we  can  get  for  the  hunt. 

OOD.  I  admit  it  is  not  convenient.  But  it  is  fit. 
That  civilization  is  doomed  which  puts  convenience  be 
fore  fitness.  But  why  waste  time  speaking  to  you  of 
civilization?  You  don't  know  the  meaning  of  the  word. 

GARTH.     What  is  civilization? 

OOD.  It  is  a  sense  of  fitness.  And  you  have  none 
whatever.  It  is  by  no  means  fit  that  I  should  stand 
here  talking  to  you  at  all.  You  should  have  killed  me 
when  you  took  me.  Or  kept  me  for  torture.  Either 
would  become  us  as  masters. 

GARTH  (anxious  to  explain  that  he  is  not  so  lacking 
in  fitness  as  it  seems).  The  voice  of  Silwa  proclaimed 
that  you  should  be  brought  before  that  slave. 

OOD  (aghast).  Ood  the  magnificent  brought  before 
a  slave!  And  this  slave  who  stands  there  with  her 
breast  impiously  bared,  and  thrice  impiously  bedecked 
in  the  bird  net  of  the  priest  of  Salwa  and  his  blood- 
colored  wings ! 

AK   (eagerly).     So  that's  where  she  got  them. 

OOD.  I  demand  that  you  strip  that  slave  of  the  sa 
cred  things. 

AJc.     Yes,  take  them  off  at  once. 

OOD.  On  the  body  of  a  slave,  the  sacred  things  of 
Salwa ! 

AK.  Sacred?  Don't  talk  to  us  of  what  is  sacred  to 
your  false  god.  What  is  sacred  to  your  Salwa  is  not 
sacred  to  our  Silwa. 

OOD  (angrily).  Your  Silwa!  Is  he  a  cripple,  then, 
that  he  speaks  through  cripples. 

AK   (to  Garth).     Sacrilege!     He  blasphemes   Silwa! 

OOD.  Don't  be  a  fool.  You  can't  blaspheme  another 
person's  god.  You  can  only  blaspheme  your  own  god. 
(To  Garth.)  Do  you  not  see  how  unfit  is  this  it  to  be  a 
priest?  A  priest  should  have  more  sense  of  fitness  than 
anybody  else.  That  is  what  he  is  for.  To  discover 


30  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

every  day  more  and  more  things  that  are  unfit.  But  I 
admit  that  in  a  sense  he  is  correct.  What  is  sacred 
to  me  is  not  necessarily  sacred  to  you.  However  re 
grettable,  you  are  what  you  are.  Nevertheless  it  is 
not  fitting  that  a  slave  should  wear  anything  that  is 
sacred  to  anybody,  and  it  is  not  fitting  that  a  slave 
should  wear  anything  but  what  all  slaves  wear.  So 
for  two  reasons,  which  even  persons  with  no  higher 
sense  of  fitness  can  appreciate,  the  things  should  be 
removed.  Take  them  off. 

AK.     Yes,  take  them  off  at  once. 
GARTH  (after  a  moment  of  speculation).     You  may 
take  off  the  red  things,  but  the  other  makes  her  look 
taller.     I  will  not  have  it  removed. 

AK  AND  OOD  (protesting).     But 

GARTH    (to  Ood).     Silence! 
AK.     But  hear  me! 
GARTH   (to  OOD).     Silence  him! 
OOD.     Silence,  it! 

GARTH.  There  is  something  in  this  sense  of  fitness. 
It  makes  home  almost  as  interesting  as  hunting.  We 
must  have  a  better  priest.  (To  Ak.)  You  may  remove 
the  red  things.  I  say  you  may  remove  the  red  things. 
(Ak  does  not  stir.) 

OOD  (grudgingly).  It  is  not  fitting  that  he  touch 
them.  Such  as  he  is,  he  is  the  priest  of  another  god, 
such  as  he  is.  They  will,  theoretically  speaking,  con 
taminate  him.  It  is  well  that  he  should  be  killed  at 
once  but  it  is  not  well  that  he  should  be  contaminated. 
A  man  should  have  respect  for  his  religion,  whatever 
it  is. 

AK  (eagerly).     Let  the  slave  remove  them  herself. 
OOD.     No,  her  hands  are  more  vile  than  her  head — 
for  she  has  worked  with  her  hands.      (To  Garth.)     You 
must  remove  them. 

GARTH  (indignantly).  I?  Remove  anything  from 
a  slave! 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  31 

AK   (hastily).     No,  let  him  not  go  near  her. 

GARTH  (indignantly).  And  why  not?  Come  hither, 
slave ! 

EM  (coming  and  kneeling  before  him,  holding  back 
her  veil).  Master! 

GARTH  (about  to  lean  over  her,  is  arrested  at  the  sight 
of  her  breast  and  gazes  fascinated  upon  it;  stammering 
in  a  dull,  dazed  tone).  What  is  the  harm  in  these  red 
things?  They  please  me  in  her  black  hair.  They  are 
like  blood  on  the  mane  of  a  lion  I  have  killed  as  he 
leaps  through  the  air.  (He  looks  up  in  bewilderment.) 
This  is  the  first  slave  that  ever  pleased  me.  She  is  both 
tall  and  pleasing. 

AK  AND  OOD.  Close  your  eyes !  Close  your  eyes  and 
wrench  them  off! 

EM  (as  he  is  about  to  do  so).     Master. 

GARTH.  No,  let  them  remain.  (He  steps  back  and 
shakes  himself  in  bewilderment.) 

AK  (prancing  up  and  down).  I  told  you  he  must 
not  go  near  her.  He  is  lost. 

OOD  (solemnly).     This  land  is  doomed. 

AK  (suddenly  getting  the  idea  that  he  may  save 
the  situation  by  promulgating  a  Voice,  and  raising  his 
arms  in  his  priestly  attitude).  Listen!  (Em,  seeing 
him,  rises  majestically  and  raises  her  arms  in  a  similar 
attitude  as  she  holds  his  eyes,  at  which  he  drops  his 
arms  abjectly  and  wails.)  Oh,  oh! 

OOD  (after  waiting  hopefully  though  disdainfully  for 
his  utterance).  Well,  what  does  your  Silwa  say? 

AK   (feebly).     Nothing. 

OOD  (in  disgust).  Have  you  no  sense  of  fitness 
whatever?  A  priest  should  not  make  those  noises  un 
less  his  god  is  about  to  speak.  (An  idea  strikes  him.) 
Why  did  the  voice  say  I  should  be  brought  before 
her? 

AK.     I — I  say  only  what  is  given  me  to  say. 

OOD.     You  are  altogether  a  fool.     If  the  voice  said 


32  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise        ACT  I 

that,  you  should  have  changed  it  on  the  way  out.  Now 
you  have  made  her  important.  The  very  first  business 
of  a  priest  is  to  see  that  nobody  else  gets  importance. 
Now  she  will  ruin  you  in  the  end.  She  is  the  only  one 
of  you  that  has  not  a  gourd  for  a  head. 

AK.     Let  us  kill  her.     Think  of  some  way. 

OOD.  There  is  no  way.  I  tell  you  it  is  too  late. 
(In  a  sudden  outburst  to  Garth.)  Why  do  you  keep 
me  a  hunter  bound  like  this  ?  It  is  my  right  to  be  killed 
at  once  or  else  tortured  and  killed  by  degrees.  Kill  me 
quickly  or  slowly  as  you  please,  but  begin. 

EM  (stretching  her  hands  to  Garth  as  he  looks  at  her 
in  bewilderment).  No,  master. 

GARTH.     No. 

OOD  (quickly  in  a  low  voice  to  Ak,  who  has  ap 
proached  still  nearer).  Kill  me. 

AK.     When  you  have  killed  her. 

OOD.  Have  a  voice.  Let  Silwa  command  that  both 
of  us  be  killed. 

AK  (knowing  the  futility  of  this).  Find  some  bet 
ter  way. 

OOD  (suddenly  pushing  Ak  over  with  his  body). 
There!  I  have  knocked  down  your  miserable  it  of  a 
priest.  If  there  is  any  fitness  whatever  in  this  bar 
barous  land  of  no  distinctions,  you  head-man  of  a  vil 
lage  and  slave  to  a  slave,  you  must  strike  me  dead.  (He 
chants  his  war  song,  preparing  to  die.)  I  am  Ood,  Ood 
the  magnificent.  My  legs  are  like  cocoa-trees.  In  my 
throat  is  a  spring  that  drieth  not. 

GARTH  (stepping  menacingly  toward  him,  brandish 
ing  his  pick  which  he  has  caught  up,  and  chanting  his 
war  song).  I  am  Garth,  Garth  the  mighty.  My  arm 
is  the  paw  of  the  lion.  (He  raises  the  pick  and 
squares  for  the  blow.)  And  its  claw  is  stone. 

OOD  (defiantly).     Like  cocoa-trees  are  my  legs! 

EM  (suddenly  intervening  and  throwing  back  her 
veil).  Master.  (Garth's  pick  slowly  descends  as  he 


ACT  I        The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  33 

looks  into  Tier  face.   She  kneels  before  him  and  stretches 
out  her  arms.)     Master.     Keep  him  for  a  slave. 

GARTH,  OOD,  AND  AK  (in  utter  amazement).  A  slave? 

EM.  Think  how  much  credit  he  will  bring  you.  When 
legs  like  cocoa-trees  shall  fetch  your  water,  and  the 
arms  of  a  magnificent  hunter  shall  grind  your  meal. 
All  through  the  land  will  masters  marvel  at  the  might 
of  Garth  the  mighty  who  alone  is  served  by  a  master 
who  is  his  slave. 

GARTH  (in  bewilderment  but  under  the  spell  of  this 
golden  picture}.  But  it  was  never  done  before! 

EM  (seductively).  The  mightiest  of  masters  should 
do  it  first. 

GARTH   (after  a  moment,  to  Ood).     Live,  slave. 

(It  is  now  sunset.  Enter  from  the  Left,  the  other 
women  staggering  under  their  burdens  of  game.  They 
arc  herded  by  the  boys,  who  strike  them  with  their 
slings  as  they  stagger,  crying,  "Up,  slaves.  On!"  The 
women  gaze  curiously  at  Em  as  they  plod  stolidly  across 
the  stage  and  go  out  Right.  As  Mart  comes  to  the 
middle,  she  pauses  under  her  load  and  looks  at  Em. 
The  two  women  face  each  other.) 

MART'S  BOY  (striking  her).  On,  slave!  (She  limps 
out  stolidly.) 

(Ood,  overcome  with  the  enormity  of  his  fate,  has 
sunk  dejectedly  to  his  knees.  Em,  turning  away  from 
Mart,  sees  him.  She  goes  to  the  spring,  fills  the  gourd, 
and  gives  him  a  drink.  He  drinks  mutely,  his  spirit 
broken). 

GARTH  (jealously).     Why  do  you  do  that? 

EM.  He  cannot  serve  himself  while  he  is  bound. 
And  you  cannot  unbind  his  arms  until  you  have  made  a 
chain  for  his  legs. 

GARTH.  Some  other  slave  shall  serve  him,  not  you. 
(Approaching  and  surveying  him.)  Yes,  I  shall  have 
great  credit  for  a  man-slave.  I  wonder  why  I  never 
thought  of  it  before.  We  must  have  more  of  that  sense 


34  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise       ACT  I 

of  fitness  in  this  village.     When  you're  not  hunting,  it 
makes  home  interesting. 

(Meanwhile  Ak  has  gone  to  the  top  of  the  rock,  and 
as  the  curtain  falls  is  seen  there  sitting  disconsolately 
directly  over  the  sacred  spring.) 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 
THE  WIVES  OF  THE  PATRIARCH 

A  Courtyard  paved  with  stone,  surrounded  by  a 
rectangular  stone  wall,  one  story  in  height.  The 
three  walls  are  broken  by  open  spaces,  set  off  by  pillars 
— one  space  in  the  exact  middle,  one  at  right  front,  one 
at  left  back.  The  middle  pillars  are  twelve  feet  apart, 
the  right  six  feet,  the  left  four  feet.  All  the  openings 
have  curtains  which  are  now  closed — the  middle  curtain 
red,  the  right  light  blue,  the  left  brown.  By  the  right 
and  left  walls  in  the  front  there  are  entrances  to  the 
courtyard  from  the  exterior.  In  the  middle  is  an  altar 
of  white  stone,  from  which  a  tiny  flame  is  mounting. 

It  is  morning  twilight.  A  neophyte  in  a  short  white 
tunic  enters  from  the  right  room.  He  comes  sleepily 
to  the  altar,  makes  two  genuflexions  and  symbolic  ges 
tures  to  the  rising  sun,  and  blows  out  the  light.  A  priest 
appears  at  the  right,  robed  in  white  to  his  feet  with  a 
blue  zigzag  band  upon  the  hem  and  down  the  middle. 
He  and  his  fellow  priest  have  smooth  faces. 

ODENA  (in  the  doorway,  sternly  but  in  a  hushed 
voice).  Three! 

AKRA  (stammering).     I  did  three. 

ODENA  (sternly).     Again! 

AKRA.     That  will  be  four. 

ODENA  (coldly,  coming  out).  I  watched  you.  (Akra 
begins  another  genuflexion  and  gesture.)  Chin  up, 
shoulders  back,  arms  together,  hands  curved!  Don't 
wiggle.  If  you  do  it  right,  it  is  supposed  to  be  ex 
tremely  uncomfortable.  Will  you  never  learn  the  rudi 
ments  of  a  priest  1  (He  examines  the  altar.)  My  man- 

35 


36  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

tie!  Can  I  touch  the  altar  before  I  have  my  mantle 
on?  (Akra  goes  into  right  room,  brings  the  mantle, 
and  affixes  it  to  his  shoulders.)  This  new  miracle  will 
be  a  fizzle.  It  will  never  work  in  the  world. 

MAGA  (at  doorway,  yawning).  I  overslept.  All 
night  I  was  boring  the  holes  in  the  altar.  For  the  new 
miracle. 

ODENA  (warningly).     She'll  be  getting  up. 

MAGA  (examining  the  altar).  It  will  be  a  beautiful 
miracle.  My  mantle!  (Akra  runs  to  get  it.) 

ODENA.  I  can  beat  nothing  into  his  head.  (With 
an  inspiration.)  If  he  does  not  improve,  he  will  do 
very  well  for  the  first  sacrifice ! 

MAGA   (surprised).     He,  almost  a  priest? 

ODENA.  Yes,  it  would  start  the  new  custom  with 
distinction. 

MAGA.     But  our  next  boy  might  be  even  more  stupid. 

ODENA.  All  the  same  if  he  does  not  improve,  we 
shall  take  him.  Goats  are  losing  their  impressiveness. 
(Rebuking  Akra,  as  he  enters  with  the  mantle.)  Why 
were  you  so  long? 

AKRA.     I  couldn't  find  it. 

MAGA  (busying  himself  at  the  altar).  Oh,  yes,  I 
used  it  to  fetch  the  potash  in — for  the  new  miracle.  I 
had  to  steal  the  key  from  the  head-wife,  as  she  was 
lying  asleep  on  the  floor. 

ODENA  (listening  at  the  middle  opening).  Not  a 
sound.  (Coming  down,  grumbling).  What  can  you  do 
without  privacy? 

MAGA.  You  see — everything  fits.  It  will  work  like 
a  charm.  When  the  moment  arrives,  you  press  the  but 
ton  with  your  knee.  The  wire  jerks  the  pan  with  the 
potash,  the  altar  flame  flares  up  blue.  It's  the  best  mir 
acle  yet. 

ODENA  (in  admiration  tempered  with  jealousy).  But 
we  must  not  work  it  often  or  it  will  lose  its  impressive- 
ness. 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  87 

MAGA  {proudly).  It  took  many  sleepless  nights  to 
devise  how  you  might  press  the  button  yet  keep  both 
hands  in  view.  It  is  a  wonderful  doing. 

ODENA.  Yes,  yes,  you  may  be  good  at  doings.  But 
you  know  nothing  of  their  inner  meanings. 

MAGA  (angrily).  Where  would  you  be  without  me, 
I'd  like  to  know.  Who  taught  you  to  impress  people? 
Who  spends  sleepless  nights  thinking  out  and  practic 
ing  new  tricks  for  you?  Who  taught  you  that  a  bone 
may  be  held  in  the  palm  of  the  hand  and  disappear  up 
the  sleeve? 

ODENA.  Peace,  you  will  wake  her.  If  she  sees  us 
standing  about  the  altar,  she  will  suspect.  {Moving 
right.)  When  we  can  have  more  privacy,  we  can  have 
more  miracles. 

MAGA  (grumbling').  Now  I  must  potter  about  all 
night,  while  you  are  snoring. 

ODENA.  Listen.  Now  you  shall  have  a  workshop  of 
your  own.  Garthus  has  consented  at  last  to  the  temple. 

AKRA.     Garthus?     But  only  yesterday  he  refused! 

ODENA  (complacently).  Maga  may  manage  sticks 
and  stones,  it  takes  me  to  manage  flesh  and  blood. 

AKRA.  He  said  he  didn't  object  to  the  smell  of  the 
burnt  offering. 

ODENA.  When  one  reason  is  not  sufficient,  a  good 
priest  always  has  another.  I  told  the  head-wife  that 
we  did  not  really  wish  to  go.  A  temple  of  our  own 
would  inconveniently  remove  us  from  surveying  the 
household.  Consequently  she  influenced  him  upon  our 
side,  not  knowing  it.  She  is  but  wax  in  my  hands  and 
he  is  but  wax  in  hers.  He  does  not  suspect  that  he  is 
wax  in  her  hands,  she  does  not  suspect  that  she  is  wax 
in  mine.  In  time  I  shall  get  him  to  permit  human  sac 
rifice.  (Gloomily.)  Otherwise,  the  day  is  coming  when 
people  will  weary  of  us.  Goats  no  longer  stimulate  the 
imagination. 

MAGA.     They  say  that  long  ago,  before  the  patri- 


38  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

archal  era,  people  had  so  much  imagination  they  were 
quarrelsome.  They  used  to  fight  with  each  other. 

ODENA.  Those  were  the  good  old  days.  This  slug 
gish  pastoral  existence  is  bad  for  the  imagination.  And 
without  imagination,  where  would  we  be?  (With  an 
idea.)  Could  I  not  persuade  her  to  make  Garthus  go 
to  war?  Then,  too,  we  should  have  captives.  With 
a  little  manipulation,  he  would  soon  consent  to  their 
being  sacrificed. 

AKRA  (glibly).  The  head-wife  has  no  perception  of 
the  inner  meanings  of  things.  Like  all  women,  she  is 
but  a  two-legged  animal. 

ODENA  (sternly).  You  talk  like  a  man  and  not  a 
priest.  Only  a  man  says  a  woman  is  a  fool.  A  priest 
keeps  it  to  himself. 

AKRA  (crestfallen).  I  thought  that  was  what  you 
taught  me. 

ODENA.  It  is  and  it  is  not.  I  do  not  know  why 
women  were  created.  But  were  it  not  for  them,  men 
would  be  extremely  difficult  to  manage.  I  said  a  priest 
should  have  a  man's  contempt  for  women  but  should 
display  it  only  with  discretion.  With  him  she  is  a  fool, 
with  us  a  fool  likewise  but  a  tool  also.  I  doubt  if  you 
will  ever  master  the  subtlety  necessary  to  a  priest. 

AKRA  (taking  up  his  tablet).  That  is  a  new  word. 
What  is  subtlety? 

ODENA.     It  is  to  entertain  two  ideas  at  once. 

AKRA.     How  do  you  spell  it? 

ODENA.     S-u-b,  sut;  t-l-e,  tull;  t-y,  ti. 

AKRA.     That  is  a  beautiful  way  to  spell  it. 

ODENA.  When  you  are  priest  and  come  to  make  up 
words  of  your  own,  don't  forget  the  principle ;  spell  them 
as  unexpectedly  as  possible,  especially  words  referring 
to  priests.  So  that  to  spell  them  correctly  will  show 
one  has  wasted  much  time  and  effort.  To  return — a 
woman  does  not  count,  yet  it  is  always  necessary  to  get 
her  consent  to  everything.  But,  mind  you,  you  must 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  39 

never  ask  for  it  directly.  That  would  make  her  impor 
tant.  Observe  me  today  when  I  suggest  to  her  that  we 
give  up  the  God  of  Child-birth. 

AKRA.  Give  up  a  God?  I  was  trying  to  think  up 
some  new  ones. 

ODENA.  Decidedly,  I  fear  you  will  never  have 
subtlety  enough  for  a  priest. 

MAGA  {sympathetically}.  Never  mind.  That's  what 
I  thought,  too,  until  he  explained  it  to  me. 

ODENA.  There  must  be  fewer  gods  instead  of  more. 
We  have  at  least  seven  whole  gods,  twenty  half  ones, 
and  innumerable  quarters.  They  confuse  the  imagina 
tion  instead  of  stimulating  it.  The  quarter  gods  and 
half  gods  must  go,  to  begin  with. 

AKRA.     Why? 

ODENA  {complacently).  I  thought  you  would  ask 
why.  Maga  there  may  spend  now  and  then  a  sleepless 
night  with  his  sticks  and  blue  flames.  But  I  never  sleep. 
Pondering  on  the  inner  meanings  of  things,  I  live  al 
ways  in  the  future.  Not  only  must  the  quarter  and  half 
gods  go,  but  little  by  little  some  of  the  whole  gods  also. 
For  as  the  small  gods  distract  the  attention  from  the 
bigger,  so  too  many  big  gods  distract  the  attention  from 
us,  their  priests.  Some  day,  far  distant  in  the  remote 
future,  there  will  be  but  one  god. 

AKRA.     But  one? 

MAGA.     Why  is  that  desirable? 

ODENA.  I  who  live  always  in  time  yet  unborn,  have 
a  large  vision.  This  pastoral  life  men  lead  now  is  bad 
for  the  imagination.  The  lack  of  imagination  is  bad 
for  us.  It  is  also  bad  for  the  men  themselves,  turning 
them  into  animals  that  crop  and  feed.  And  animals  do 
not  desire  a  god.  It  is  our  mission  to  keep  the  imagi 
nation  moving.  Can  this  be  done  continuously  by  blue 
flames  and  disappearing  bones?  You  can  move  the 
imagination  only  to  a  limited  degree  in  this  sluggish 
pastoral  life.  Men  must  go  to  war  with  each  other. 


40  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

And  to  do  that  they  must  have  a  war-cry.  Gods  make 
the  best  war-cries,  but  it  is  not  convenient  to  go  to  war 
crying  the  names  of  seven  gods  at  once.  Therefore  I 
shall  today  set  about  reducing  the  seven  gods  to  six. 
My  successor  may  reduce  them  to  five.  The  ideal  will 
come  when  at  last  there  is  only  one.  One  God — that 
will  be  the  perfect  war-cry.  (Both  men  are  astounded 
at  the  length  of  Odena's  vision.) 

MAGA.  Now  tell  him  why  you  begin  by  getting  rid 
of  the  God  of  Child-birth. 

AKRA.     Yes. 

ODENA.  First,  he  is  a  woman's  god — hence  he  is  the 
least  important.  Second,  he  is  quite  unnecessary  and 
ought  never  to  have  been  permitted.  Third, 

AKRA.     Why  the  second? 

ODENA.  The  third  explains  the  second.  But  it  is 
always  well  to  have  things  come  in  threes.  Third,  a 
woman's  children  are  either  male  or  female.  So  much 
is  granted.  (On  his  fingers.)  If — one — it  is  a  male, 
he  is  already  sufficiently  looked  out  for  by  the  other 
gods.  If — two — it  is  a  female,  it  doesn't  matter  whether 
she  is  looked  out  for  or  not.  And — three — the  mother 
makes  no  difference  in  either  case. 

MAGA  (in  admiration).  That's  what  I  call  a — what 
did  you  say  it  was? 

ODENA.  An  incontrovertible  exegesis.  Unfortu- 
,nately,  the  words,  though  long,  spell  exactly  as  they 
...sound.  But  they  are  not  mine,  they  date  from  a  more 
primitive  time. 

AKRA  (after  writing  the  words  down,  sagely  but  dip 
lomatically).  Will  this  exegesis  of  yours  appeal  to 
her? 

ODENA.  You  don't  suppose  I  shall  give  her  that  one? 
Will  you  never  learn  the  rudiments  of  your  profes 
sion  ? 

AKRA  (turning  away  uncomfortably,  he  sees  the  bac.Jc 
curtain  flutter).  She  is  getting  up. 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  41 

ODENA.  Quickly!  {They  hurry  into  their  room  and 
close  the  curtain  softly.) 

{It  is  now  dawn.  Emla  lifts  up  the  back  curtain  and 
appears.  She  is  dressed  in  a  plain,  loosely  flowing  dark 
robe  which  suggests  the  Greek.  Yawning,  she  sits  upon 
the  stone  bench  to  the  right  of  the  curtain.  Here  she 
nods  and  after  catching  herself  up  two  or  three  times, 
falls  asleep,  sitting.  From  room  left  a  head  peeps  out, 
the  body  follows,  and  Marta,  the  second  wife,  appears.) 

MARTA  {speaking  back).  Yes,  she's  up.  (The  four 
other  wives  come  to  the  door.  They  huddle  in  a  group 
and  make  whispered  comments  upon  Emla  with  much 
tittering).  No  wonder  her  father  had  hard  work  to  get 
rid  of  her.  They  say  he  offered  her  to  every  patriarch 
in  the  world. 

THE  WIVES  (variously).  How  disgracefully  small 
her  hands  are.  Her  feet  are  useless.  She  has  the  bosom 
of  a  priest.  Her  ankles  are  slimmer  than  an  antelope's. 

HARTAL  Her  father  had  to  throw  in  fifty  oxen,  one 
hundred  sheep  and  eighty  goats.  (The  women  all  tit 
ter  more  loudly.)  Hush!  You  will  wake  her  and  then 
we  shall  be  beaten.  Come,  we  may  as  well  begin. 

(The  women  all  turn  their  backs  and  draw  their  cur 
tain  open  with  a  swish.  Emla  opens  her  eyes  with  a 
start  and  then  sits  bolt  upright  and  rigid.  Still  with 
their  backs  turned,  the  women  fall  into  line  across  their 
doorway.) 

THE  WIVES  (loudly  and  in  unison).  The  other  wives 
sleep  while  the  head-wife  watches.  (They  turn  and  in 
single  file  headed  by  Marta  approach  the  center  door 
way  and  stand.) 

MARTA.  All  night  have  the  faithful  eyes  of  the  head- 
wife  remained  unclosed. 

EMLA  (intoning  antiphonally) .  But  the  eyes  of  the 
heedless  others  were  heavy  with  selfish  slumber.  (She 
rises  briskly  and  takes  the  bunch  of  keys  that  hangs 
from  her  girdle.  From  the  other  end  of  the  file,  one  by 


42  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

one  each  woman  goes  to  her  and  receives  a  key,  hangs 
it  upon  her  girdle,  and  returns  to  her  place.)  The  store 
house  of  grain  and  fodder.  The  storehouse  of  meats. 
The  slave's  food.  The  slaves  may  no  longer  eat  of  the 
breast  of  the  fowl.  Yesterday  the  priests  declared  it 
unseemly.  Only  the  drumsticks,  the  wings,  and  the 
necks.  See  you  remember.  The  table  of  the  household. 
The  women  may  no  longer  eat  bread  parched  on  both 
sides.  Yesterday  the  priests  declared  it  unseemly.  See 
you  remember.  (To  Marta.)  The  storeroom  of  liquor. 
Yesterday  I  found  less  than  I  expected.  Can  it  be  pos 
sible  that  any  of  our  slaves  has  broken  the  sacred  tabu? 
Impiously  partaken  of  the  patriarch's  private  store? 

MARTA  (genuinely  shocked).     Impossible! 

EMLA.     Could  any  of  the  maid  servants 

MARTA  (breaking  in  amazed).  The  maid  servants? 
A  woman  take  a  drink! 

EMLA  (severely).  Certainly  not!  I  was  about  to 
say,  could  they  have  smuggled  out  any  to  their  young 
men? 

MARTA  (with  acid  dignity).  Not  while  I  am  trusted 
with  the  key.  7  was  brought  up  in  a  proper  household. 

EMLA  (speculating).  I  don't  think  Garthus  drank 
more  than  usual  last  night. 

MARTA   (crisply).     Any  other  commands? 

EMLA.     No. 

MARTA  (to  the  wives).  It  is  late.  Summon  your 
maid-servants  and  give  them  your  orders  for  the  day 
the  moment  you  are  at  liberty.  (To  Emla.)  If  he  did 
drink  more  than  usual,  he  may  not  appear  till  noon. 
(With  the  air  of  one  who  could  manage  better)  Some 
thing  should  be  done  about  the  entire  household  waiting 
until  noon  to  begin. 

EMLA.     Yes.     I  will  ask  the  priests. 

(The  priests  at  this  moment  draw  back  their  curtain 
and  appear.  They  come  out  in  single  file  and  with  ex 
cessive  ceremony.  Their  stiffness  greatly  contrasts  with 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  43 

their  earlier  naturalness.  The  women  all  bow  their 
heads  upon  the  ground  and  rise  at  once.) 

THE  PRIESTS.  All  night  have  the  sleepless  priests 
watched  over  this  helpless  household. 

THE  WIVES  (intoning  antiphonally) .  While  the 
worthless  wives  of  the  master  lay  stupid  as  logs  in 
slumber. 

EMLA  (turning  briskly  to  Odena).  It  is  inconvenient 
to  begin  the  day  so  late.  Can  you  not  make  some  cere 
mony  to  be  used  in  time  of  great  drunkenness?  That 
we  may  begin  before  he  arises? 

ODENA.  The  more  drunkenness  the  more  honor. 
When  only  the  master  may  be  drunk,  the  drunker  he  is 
the  better. 

EMLA.  I  would  not  decrease  by  a  moment  the  hours 
of  his  manly  drunkenness.  I  am  told  he  has  been  drunk 
er  since  I  came  than  ever  before.  (All  the  other  wives 
bridle  with  indignation.)  But  it  is  inconvenient  not  to 
be  able  to  wind  up  the  day  till  he  appears.  I  am  sure 
Odena  is  clever  enough  to  allow  the  day  to  begin  and  the 
master  still  to  be  drunk  at  one  and  the  same  time.  By 
another  of  his  beautiful  ceremonies. 

ODENA  (not  unpleased  witth  the  idea  of  trying  his 
skill).  There  are  many  prerogatives  to  think  out  at 
once,  lest  some  unseemly  innovation 

EMLA  (interrupting).  The  more  difficulties,  the  more 
honor  to  clever  Odena. 

ODENA.  It  might  be  done.  But  the  God  of  Early 
Rising  must  not  be  pleased  at  the  expense  of  the  God 
of  the  Master's  Drunkenness. 

EMLA  (boldly).  Since  it  is  seemly  that  drunkenness 
be  only  for  the  master,  why  should  not  early  rising  be 
only  for  women  and  slaves? 

ODENA  (concealing  his  approval  of  this  reasoning). 
The  matter  is  not  so  simple  as  a  woman  without  brains 
might  imagine.  Still,  I  will  think  of  it. 

EMLA  (seeing  the  certain  flutter).     He  is  getting  up. 


44  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

(The  priests  fall  in  line  back  of  the  altar.  The 
lesser  wives  line  up  to  face  the  doorway.  Emla  stands 
alone  on  the  left.  Garthus  pushes  back  the  curtain  and 
appears,  yawning.  He  is  attired  in  a  much  tousled  tu 
nic.  The  women  all  prostrate  themselves  and  remain 
prostrated  during  the  ceremony.) 

EMLA  (intoning).     The  master  arises  before  the  sun. 

THE  WIVES.     He  rises  and  bids  the  sun  hasten. 

THE  PRIESTS  He  rises  and  the  sun  prepares  to 
follow. 

ALL  TOGETHER.  The  master  rises  and  the  day 
begins. 

(Emla  goes  to  him  and  begins  to  unbutton  his  tunic. 
The  other  women  draw  back  the  curtain,  go  in,  and  bring 
out  a  fresh  tunic.  They  hand  it  to  Emla,  who  puts  it 
upon  him.  Then  they  unfold  his  mantle  of  red  cloth, 
and  all  them  holding  it  together,  she  affixes  it  to  his  shoul 
ders  by  two  large  brooches,  each  of  a  single  stone.  All 
this  has  been  done  in  silence,  while  he  submits,  yawning 
and  bored.  Maria  takes  up  the  discarded  tunic  and 
stands  waiting.) 

MARTA  (intoning).  What,  O  head-wife,  shall  be 
done  with  the  husks  of  yesterday? 

EMLA  (intoning).  What,  O  head-priest,  shall  be 
done  with  the  husks  of  yesterday? 

ODENA.  The  husks  of  yesterday  shall  be  cast  into 
the  oven.  That  they  may  make  the  bread  of  today. 

(Marta  crosses  down  from  the  left,  where  she  is,  and 
goes  out  Left  front). 

GARTHUS  (intoning  in  a  bored  voice  to  the  lesser  wives 
who  again  have  lined  up).  The  day  has  begun.  (The 
lesser  wives  at  once  go  about  their  several  duties,  some 
going  Left  front,  some  Right  front,  some  into  room  left. 
The  curtains  of  the  three  rooms  are  now  standing  en 
tirely  drawn  back.  Only  the  middle  room,  however,  is 
entirely  disclosed  on  account  of  the  size  and  location  of 
the  opening.  This  room  contains  but  a  bed  and  the 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  45 

chest  of  drawers  out  of  which  the  wives  have  brought 
the  clothes.)  This  clothes  ceremony  is  very  stupid.  It 
bores  me.  (To  Odena.)  And  why  should  they  be  burnt 
up  every  day? 

ODENA  (indulgently).  Garthus  does  not  perceive  the 
inner  meanings  of  things. 

GARTHUS.  But  it  uses  up  a  lot  of  perfectly  good 
clothes.  Yesterday's  husk  cost  me  one  woman  slave 
and  a  half  and  I  had  to  pay  the  half  in  goats  at 
that. 

ODENA.  I  thought  you  were  glad  to  have  your  wealth 
so  demonstrated.  What  is  the  use  of  wealth  if  you  do 
not  use  it?  It  took  me  sleepless  nights  to  invent  so  ex 
cellently  wasteful  a  method. 

EMLA.  And  how  well  he  explained  it.  The  more 
waste,  the  more  honor. 

GARTHUS.  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  it's  such  a 
bore  to  be  changing  your  clothes  every  day.  (Emla 
is  seen  trying  to  seize  an  idea  which  suddenly  hits  her. 
She  stands  with  wide  eyes  abstracted.)  It's  a  good 
method.  But  don't  go  thinking  it  can't  be  improved 
upon. 

ODENA  (indignantly).  It's  easier  to  get  a  new  idea 
than  improve  upon  an  old  one. 

GARTHUS.  And  that  other  method  of  yours.  Mak 
ing  visits  to  all  the  patriarchs  of  the  neighborhood. — To 
show  off  my  household  and  bestow  presents.  That  bores 
me  too.  There's  no  use  in  visiting  unless  to  get  a  new 
wife. 

ODENA  (indulgently).  Garthus  does  not  perceive  the 
inner  meanings  of  things.  The  more  visits  and  pres 
ents,  the  more  you  impress  other  people  with  your  lei 
sure  and  wealth.  What  is  the  use  of  leisure  unless  you 
do  it  before  people  ?  You  might  as  well  be  asleep.  And 
what,  I  say  again,  is  the  use  of  more  wealth  than  you 
can  use  unless  a  clever  priest  spends  sleepless  nights 
inventing  new  methods  to  use  it?  Emla,  the  head-wife, 


46  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

will  bear  me  out.  I  say  Emla,  the  head-wife,  will  bear 
me  out. 

EMLA  (having  now  definitely  formulated  her  thought 
and  speaking  boldly — as  becomes  a  person  who  origi 
nates  a  startling  innovation).  You  say  it  bores  you  to 
change  your  clothes  and  make  visits? 

GARTHUS.  Damnably.  What  are  you  driving  at 
now? 

EMLA.  If  my  noble  master's  mind  is  above  such  tri 
fles,  then  why  should  not  I,  the  head-wife,  perform  for 
you  all  the  clothes  changing  and  the  visiting? 

GARTHUS  (in  amazement).     It  was  never  done  before. 

ODENA  (imperiously).  I  could  not  give  my  sanc 
tion 

EMLA  (in  pretended  surprise).  Why,  it  was  your 
idea.  You  said  so  yourself. 

ODENA.     I?    When? 

EMLA.  Just  now,  when  you  asked  me  to  bear  you 
out.  I  thought  it  was  the  cleverest  idea  you  ever  got. 

GARTHUS  (delighted).  Just  when  there  seemed  no 
escape  from  this  endless  business  of  using  my  wealth ! 
Cleverest  idea  you  ever  got. 

ODENA  (having  now  readjusted  himself  to  the  notion). 
I  do  not  say  that  there  are  not  difficulties.  Conflicting 
prerogatives  and 

EMLA.  But  you  will  surmount  them.  By  another 
of  your  beautiful  ceremonies. 

GARTHUS.  Well,  I'm  glad  that's  settled.  Mind,  I 
don't  change  my  clothes  for  at  least  a  month.  Unless  I 
get  very  drunk.  Now  summon  the  head-slave  of  the 
hunt.  I'll  have  a  bite  to  eat  and  start  out. 

EMLA  (aside  to  Odena).  Are  their  beards  all  de 
cently  trimmed?  (He  nods — she  goes  on  in  her  cere 
monial  voice.)  The  master  wishes  to  hunt. 

ODENA  (to  Akra).     The  master  wishes  to  hunt. 

AKRA  (calling  at  Left  front).  The  master  wishes  to 
hunt. 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  47 

{He  takes  his  place  with  the  priests  again.  The  head- 
slave  enters  Left.  His  beard  and  hair  are  trimmed, 
shorter  than  those  of  Garthus  which  are  grown  to  their 
full  length.  He  carries  a  spear.) 

THE  HEAD-SLAVE  OF  THE  HUNT  (prostrating  him 
self  and  rising).  O  Long  Beard,  the  short-beard  slaves 
of  the  hunt  are  in  readiness.  They  wait  for  their  break 
fast.  As  our  beards  are  shorter  than  thine,  shorter  also 
our  breath,  our  strength,  our  endurance. 

GARTHUS  (bored).  Head-slave  of  the  Hunt,  they 
have  my  permission.  For  the  short  beard  signifieth  less 
strength  than  the  long.  (The  head-slave  presents  his 
spear  to  Garthus,  goes  out  Left  front.)  Couldn't  you  let 
her  do  all  this  too? 

ODENA.  Garthus  has  no  perception  of  the  inner 
meanings  of  things. 

GARTHUS.     Well,  come  along.     I'm  hungry. 

ODENA.  You  were  to  give  orders  that  they  break 
ground  for  the  temple. 

GARTHUS    (crossly).     Well,  summon  them. 

EMLA  (aside  to  Odena).  You  are  sure  they  have  all 
shaved  today?  Last  time  some  of  their  beards  showed 
most  indecently.  (Odena  nods — in  her  ceremonial 
voice).  The  master  would  speak  to  the  head-slaves  of 
the  workers. 

ODENA  (to  Akra).  The  master  would  speak  to  the 
head-slaves  of  the  workers. 

AKRA  (going  to  Left  and  calling).  The  master  would 
speak  to  the  head-slaves  of  the  workers. 

(Four  men  enter  and  prostrate  themselves  and  remain 
prostrate.  Their  faces  are  shaved  and  their  hair  is 
cropped.) 

THE  HEAD-SLAVE.  O  Bearded  One,  the  workers  wait 
thy  voice.  They  are  too  weak  to  grow  any  hair  at  all 
upon  their  faces  and  very  little  upon  their  heads.  O 
Bearded  One,  we  can  only  fetch  water. 


48  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

SECOND  HEAD-SLAVE.  O  Bearded  One,  we  can  only 
dig  earth. 

THIRD  HEAD-SLAVE.  O  Bearded  One,  we  can  only 
cut  wood. 

FOURTH  HEAD-SLAVE.  O  Bearded  One,  we  can  only 
hew  stone. 

ALL  THE  HEAD-SLAVES.  We  are  not  strong  enough  to 
hunt. 

GARTHUS.  Head-slaves  of  the  workers,  the  Bearded 
One  knoweth  that  you  have  only  strength  to  work. 
For  the  smooth  face  is  the  face  of  the  stripling 
and  the  woman.  It  signifieth  there  is  no  strength  what 
ever.  Hear  now  the  voice  of  the  Bearded  One.  (To 
Odena  listlessly.)  What  do  I  say? 

ODENA.     Report  to  me  after  my  breakfast. 

GARTHUS.  Head-slaves  of  the  workers,  report  to  the 
head  priest,  after  his  breakfast.  (The  slaves  rise  and 
go  out  Left.)  Come  along  now.  I'm  hungry,  I  tell  yon. 
(He  starts.) 

ODENA  (stopping  him  with  his  voice).  Garthus  has. 
no  perception  of  the  inner  meanings  of  things. 

GARTHUS  (halting).  Oh,  very  well,  you  can  have  the 
procession  but  cut  the  ceremony. 

ODENA    (remonstrating).     Garthus  has 

GARTHUS.  I  tell  you  I  won't  have  the  ceremony.  If 
you  don't  want  the  procession,  so  much  the  better. 

(They  march  around  the  altar  as  Emla  prostrates  her 
self  near  Right  front.  As  they  pass  out,  Garthus 
ceremonially  touches  her  head  with  his  spear,  the  priests 
wave  aside  their  garments,  and  Akra  with  great  unction 
places  his  foot  upon  her  back.  When  they  have  gone 
by  Right  front,  Emla  runs  to  the  chest  of  draw^- 
ers  and  furtively  takes  out  a  huge  brooch  of  a  single 
stone,  like  those  with  which  she  had  clasped  on  his  man 
tle  but  bigger.  She  comes  out  to  make  sure  she  is  alone 
and  tries  it  on,  fondly  and  covetously.  She  comes  out 
into  the  courtyard  to  get  a  better  light  on  it.  Maga 
enters  Right  front.) 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  49 

EMLA  (starting*).     I  was  cleaning  it. 

MAGA  (with  kindly  quizzicality).  And  so  you  clasped 
it  upon  you?  The  new  wife  takes  liberties.  With  the 
sacred  tabu  of  the  head  of  the  household. 

EMLA  (coaxingly).  Are  you  not  well?  That  you  have 
eaten  so  quickly? 

MAGA.     I  have  finished. 

EMLA.  If  Garthus  has  finished,  I  will  go  get  my 
breakfast. 

MAGA.  No,  he  is  eating.  I  stole  away.  To  finish 
some  work. 

EMLA.     Work?     A  priest  work? 

MAGA  (smiling).  All  work  is  not  unworthy.  A  priest 
may  work  for  the  service  of  the  gods.  This  is  a  head 
dress  for  Odena. 

EMLA.     A  head-dress!     What  is  that? 

MAGA.  To  go  on  the  head.  When  he  makes  the 
sacrifice. 

EMLA.     Oh,  let  me  see  it! 

MAGA  (anxious  to  show  it).  You  must  not  tell?  (She 
shakes  her  head  vehemently.  He  makes  sure  the  coast 
is  clear.)  I  will  show  you. 

EMLA  (as  he  goes  into  room  right).  I'll  put  this 
back. 

MAGA  (re-entering).  Here.  (He  carries  a  head 
dress  made  like  a  mitre,  out  of  the  sides  sprout  two 
large  curling  horns.  He  has  a  child's  pride  in  his 
work.) 

EMLA  (running  down  from  returning  the  brooch  to 
the  drawer).  Oh!  (She  is  in  ecstasy  of  admiration.) 

MAGA.     Another  horn  fits  on  the  top. 

EMLA.     Oh,  I  should  love  to  see  it  on! 

MAGA  (as  delighted  as  she  is).  See!  (He  puts  it 
on.  The  horns  curl  in  about  his  neckf  so  that  he  must 
thrust  his  jaw  upwards.) 

EMLA  (delighted).  It  must  be  very  heavy  and  un 
comfortable  ! 


50  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

MAGA.  You  will  have  to  hold  your  neck  so.  The 
more  discomfort  the  more  honor. 

EMLA.     It  is  beautiful,  beautiful. 

MAGA.     I  wish  I  could  see  it. 

EMLA  (coaxingly  but  a  little  aghast  at  her  own  dar 
ing).  Put  it  on  me  and  you  can  see  it. 

MAGA.     On  you! 

EMLA.  Then  you  can  see  how  beautiful  it  is.  What 
it  must  be  to  have  such  brains  and  such  hands ! 

MAGA  (tempted).  No  one  will  see.  You  must  not 
tell. 

EMLA  (breathless  and  sobered).  No.  (He  puts  it 
on  her.) 

MAGA  (standing  off  and  concerned  only  with  the  ef 
fect).  What  a  splendid  curl!  Just  as  I  saw  it  all  in 
my  mind.  I  have  been  picking  out  the  goats  for 
weeks. 

EMLA.     Oh,  if  I  could  only  see  myself! 

MAGA  (suddenly  realizing  the  enormity  of  the  impro 
priety,  and  snatching  it  off).  Just  like  a  woman!  I 
don't  know  why  you  ever  did  such  a  thing.  If  you 
ever  tell,  Odena  will  punish  you  severely.  (He  goes 
toward  room  right  but  pauses  to  examine  the  head 
dress.  ) 

EMLA  (banding  her  hands  upon  her  head  and  strain 
ing  her  jaw  upwards).  How  beautiful!  And  so  uncom 
fortable  ! 

MAGA  (hastily,  to  Odena  who  enters  right  front).  I 
was  just  fixing  in  the  third  horn. 

EMLA.     When  I  saw  him  and  asked  what  it  was. 

ODENA  (observing  it  critically).  The  horns  should 
curl  up  more. 

MAGA   (indignantly).     Blame  the  goats  not  me. 

ODENA.  Nevertheless  I  fear  it  will  not  be  uncom 
fortable  enough.  Can't  you  make  something  to  have  the 
jaw  go  so?  (He  strains  his  head  as  far  back  and  up 
as  possible.) 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  51 

MAGA.  Then  it  would  fall  off.  But  nothing  ever 
suits  you. 

ODENA  (conciliatingly).  Well,  the  next  will  be  more 
uncomfortable. 

MAGA  {grumbling).  Think  it  up  yourself  then.  {He 
goes  into  room  right.) 

EMLA.     What  are  you  going  to  call  it? 

(Akra  appears  Right  front.  He  conceals  something 
hastily  in  the  folds  of  his  robe  on  seeing  Emla.  Odena 
goes  quickly  to  him.) 

ODENA  (in  a  low  voice).  Did  you  get  it?  (Akra 
exposes  secretly  a  cup,  which  Odena  looks  into).  It  is 
not  much. 

AKRA.     All  he  left. 

ODENA.  Put  it  in  my  bottle.  Don't  let  her  see  you. 
(He  turns  up  again.  Akra  cannot  go  into  the  room  as 
Emla  is  just  in  front  of  it.) 

EMLA.     Are  you  going  to  call  it  just  a  head-dress? 

ODENA  (in  surprise).  Everybody  could  spell  that  at 
once. 

AKRA  (glibly).  Everything  relating  to  priests  must 
be  spelt  in  the  most  uncomfortable  manner  possible. 

ODENA.  Yes.  I  thought  up  your  name  last  night. 
You  are  a  Neophyte.  (Akra  with  one  hand  fumbles 
for  his  tablet  and  is  in  danger  of  exposing  his  cup. 
Odena  goes  on  hastily.)  You  can  write  it  down  later. 
The  "Neo"  is  unfortunately  quite  simple.  But  you 
proceed  beautifully  from  the  expected  to  the  unexpect 
ed.  The  "Phyte"  is  a  triumph  of  unexpectedness.  You 
would  natural  expect  f-i-g-h-t.  It  is  p-h-y-t-e.  The 
"t"  is  the  only  letter  you  expect. 

MARTA  (entering  hastily  from  Left  front  entrance, 
about  to  cross  to  Right  front,  her  manner  indicating  sup 
pressed  excitement).  I  thought  you  were  at  breakfast. 
He  has  gone  to  the  hunt.  (Emla,  noticing  her  manner, 
goes  down  to  meet  her.  Akra  slips  into  the  room,  lifting 
up  the  cup  as  he  does  so  and  sniffing  at  its  contents. 


52  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

Odena  sees  him  doing  it  and  taking  him  by  the  ear, 
seizes  the  cup  and  marches  him  into  the  room.)  He  is 
hunting  on  the  mountains  between  your  father's  land 
and  ours. 

EMLA  (curious  as  to  her  manner  but  superior).   Well? 

MARTA.  He  hunted  there  yesterday.  A  slave  lives 
there  with  his  daughter.  They  belong  to  your  father. 

EMLA.  My  father  owns  many  slaves  and  their  daugh 
ters. 

MARTA.  She  met  Garthus  there  yesterday.  One  of 
our  slaves  of  the  Hunt  told  one  of  the  maid-servants 
who  told  me.  I  feared  Garthus  might  go  to  see  her 
again  today.  So  I  sent  some  of  our  slaves  to  capture 
her.  It  is  disgraceful.  Has  he  not  wives  enough  whom 
he  is  neglecting?  One  might  expect  an  occasional  maid 
servant  of  our  own  but  a  slave!  And  beyond  his  own 
household ! 

EMLA.     Garthus  has  taken  up  with  a  common  slave? 

MARTA.     Yes.     When  he  had  just  married  you. 

EMLA  (not  noticing  her  gibe).  And  I  thought  he  had 
never  been  more  contented  and  drunk  in  his  life. 

MARTA.  Some  lick-spittle  maid-servant  must  have 
told  you  that.  We  could  have  told  you  different. 

EMLA.     A  common  slave!     In  the  forest? 

MARTA.  What  right  has  a  slave  to  live  with  her  fa 
ther  in  the  forest?  No  patriarch  who  can  manage  his 
household  would  allow  it. 

EMLA  (haughtily).     You  are  speaking  of  my  father! 

MARTA.  Slaves  are  not  good  enough  for  the  creature. 
What  is  to  be  done? 

EMLA.     I  will  ask  the  priests.      (Calling.)      Odena! 

MAGA  (appearing  at  door).  Odena  is  busy.  What  is 
it? 

EMLA.  Garthus.  A  woman  slave  yesterday  while 
hunting. 

MARTA.     It  is  disgraceful. 

EMLA.     Has  he  not  wives  enough  of  his  own? 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  53 

MARTA.     Or  maid-servants? 

MAGA.  He  is  a  patriarch.  A  man  may  do  as  he 
pleases  in  his  own  household. 

EMLA  AND  MARTA.     But  he  went  beyond  it ! 

MAGA  {shocked).     A  slave  of  another  patriarch's? 

MARTA.     Her  father's. 

MAGA  {scratching  his  head).  That  is  another  mat 
ter.  I  will  get  Odena.  (Goes  into  room.) 

MARTA  (calling  after).  When  he  had  just  married 
her. 

EMLA  (angrily).  Why  do  you  keep  on  saying  when 
.Tie  had  just  married  me?  It's  your  affair,  too. 

MARTA.  No  such  thing  happened  when  /  was  head- 
wife.  If  there  were  slaves  at  all,  they  were  ours. 

EMLA  (with  increasing  heat).  He  has  insulted  your 
iEather  as  well  as  mine. 

MARTA.  Insulted  your  father?  If  he  has,  it  would 
serve  him  right.  Letting  a  woman  slave  live  with  her 
father!  (They  run  to  Odena,  who  enters.)  Garthus 
has 

EMLA  (peremptorily).  The  head-wife  complains  to 
priests!  Garthus  has  taken  up  with  a  slave. 

MARTA.     It  is  disgraceful. 

EMLA.     He  has  insulted  our  fathers, 

ODENA  (with  authority).  A  patriarch  has  preroga 
tives.  He  may  do  as  he  pleases  in  his  own  household. 

EMLA.     But  he  went  beyond  it. 

ODENA  (scandalized).     Another  patriarch's? 

MARTA.     A  slave  of  her  father's. 

EMLA  (angrily).  What  does  it  matter  whose  father 
it  is !  He  has  insulted  six  fathers. 

MARTA.  He  has  insulted  mine  most.  Your  father's 
slave  is  not  my  father's  slave.  And  I  was  head-wife 
before  you  came. 

EMLA.  And  another  before  you  came.  You  were 
all  head-wives  once.  I  tell  you  he  has  insulted  all  our 
Jfathers  alike. 


54  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

ODENA  (with  authority).  Peace!  There  are  many 
questions  involved.  (Thinking  his  way  out.)  One — he 
has  insulted  the  fathers  of  all  of  you. 

EMLA  (triumphantly).     I  told  you  so. 

MARTA  (relying  on  her  intuition).  But  she  is  your 
father's  slave. 

ODENA.  Peace!  Two — the  fact  that  she  is  your  fa 
ther's  slave  is  a  fact  of  wide  implication. 

MARTA  (triumphantly).     I  told  you  so. 

EMLA.     Ridiculous. 

ODENA.  Peace!  Three — the  insult  to  your  father 
(Marta)  is  less  than  the  insult  to  your  father  (Emla.) 
For  it  is  your  father's  slave. 

MARTA  (crestfallen  to  Emla  triumphant).  But  your 
father  has  no  business  to  let  a  woman-slave  live  with 
her  father.  (To  Odena.)  Four? 

ODENA.     Things    come    in    threes.     I    have    finished. 

MARTA  AND  EMLA.     Well,  what's  to  be  done  about  it? 

ODENA.  If  it  were  your  own  slave,  you  could  pun 
ish  her.  As  it  is  not,  nothing. 

EMLA  (blankly).  Something  should  be  done  when 
these  things  happen  with  slaves.  When  you  can  beat 
them,  at  least  you  show  some  trifling  respect  to  decency. 

ODENA.     But  she  is  not  your  slave. 

EMLA.  She  was  once.  At  least,  when  I  was  in  my 
father's  household,  I  could  have  got  one  of  his  wives  to 
beat  her. 

ODENA.  But  you  have  left  his  household.  What 
would  become  of  a  man's  personal  rights  if  the  women 
of  different  households  could  get  together? 

EMLA  (baffled).  Wives  have  no  way  to  organize  any 
thing.  It  looks  as  if  men  had  arranged  it  on  purpose. 

ODENA.  One  cannot  expect  a  woman  to  perceive  the 
hidden  meanings  of  things. 

EMLA.     Then  if  we  can't  punish  her,  why  not  him? 

ODENA  (astounded).  Punish  a  man?  And  a  pa 
triarch  ? 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  55 

EMLA.  When  he  takes  up  with  another  patriarch's 
slave,  I  should  think  you  could  see  that  it  interferes 
with  another  man's  personal  rights. 

ODENA.     Why,  what  has  he  done  after  all? 

EMLA.  He  has  mixed  up  the  whole  order  of  things. 
If  there's  a  child,  whose  slave  will  it  be? 

MARTA.  Oh!  We  can  give  three  goats  apiece  to  the 
God  of  Child-birth  that  there  be  no  child. 

EMLA  (struck  with  the  idea).  That  will  make  eigh 
teen.  He'll  do  anything  we  want  for  eighteen. 

ODENA  (taking  advantage  of  the  opportunity).  You 
may  give  him  sixty,  it  would  make  no  difference.  There 
is  no  God  of  Child-birth. 

MARTA  AND  EMLA   (astounded).     What! 

ODENA.  I  discovered  it  yesterday.  And  I  had  no 
sooner  discovered  that  there  was  none  than  I  discovered 
there  was  no  good  in  one  anyhow.  The  God  of  Child 
birth  was  only  a  primitive  survival. 

MARTA  AND  EMLA  (aghast  and  indignant).  Are  wo 
men  to  have  no  god  at  all? 

ODENA.  That's  just  it.  One — by  primitive  man 
woman  was  not  considered  a  human  being.  Two — she 
was  another  kind  of  being.  Three — therefore  he  gave 
her  a  god  of  her  own.  Do  you  not  see  that  if  you  con 
tinue  this  God  of  Child-birth,  you  are  continuing  a  prim 
itive  idea  that  would  otherwise  have  perished  long  since? 
If  woman  has  a  god  of  her  own,  you  make  her  essen 
tially  another  being  from  man. 

EMLA  (at  once  entertaining  the  idea).  Of  course, 
they  are  made  out  of  the  same  material. 

ODENA  (cautiously).  Except  that  men  have  brains 
and  souls.  At  least,  they  should  have  the  same  gods. 

MARTA  (regretfully).  But  it  was  nice  to  have  a  god 
of  your  own. 

ODENA.  Oh,  a  man's  god  will  look  out  for  you  just 
as  well. 

EMLA.     I   can  tell  you   one   thing   right  now.      You 


56  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

can't  expect  women  to  go  on  believing  in  your  gods 
unless  you  have  a  woman-god  among  them. 

MARTA  {decidedly).  Let's  ask  Garthus  not  to  give 
up  the  God  of  Child-birth. 

ODENA.  Not  that  it  matters  to  me.  But  you  can't 
expect  me  to  punish  slaves  for  you  if  you  object  to 
everything  I  want. 

MARTA  AND  EMLA  (eagerly).     Can  you  punish  her? 

ODENA  (in  a  tone  of  concession).  There  are  many 
prerogatives  involved.  (To  Maria.)  Is  that  a  maid 
servant  yonder?  (Marta  goes  to  entrance  Left  to  see.) 
Send  her  away.  One  cannot  discuss  important  matters 
with  such  a  brainless  creature  interfering. 

MARTA  (returning).     There  is  no  one  there. 

EMLA.     Go  get  your  breakfast. 

MARTA.     Before  you? 

EMLA.  I  don't  wish  any.  (Marta  hesitates.)  Go! 
(Marta  goes  Right  front.) 

ODENA  (after  satisfying  himself  that  she  has  gone). 
It  is  gratifying  to  talk  to  one  woman  who  is  not  alto 
gether  a  fool.  Garthus  has  but  one  wife  who  is  not 
altogether  a  fool.  He  will  not  of  himself  care  two 
sticks  whether  there  is  a  God  of  Child-birth  or  not,  but 
if  this  brainless  creature  should  get  at  him? 

EMLA.     She  has  no  influence  with  him  whatever. 

ODENA.  But  will  it  not  be  better  to  anticipate  her? 
Then  he  will  shut  her  up  at  once. 

EMLA.     And  in  return  you  will  punish  this  slave? 

ODENA.     I  will  devise  some  way. 

EMLA.  I  will  speak  to  Garthus.  (After  a  moment, 
shrewdly.)  Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  abolish  the  God 
of  Child-birth? 

ODENA.  To  abolish  the  false  distinctions  between 
men  and  women. 

EMLA.     So  that  the  true  ones  will  be  more  important? 

ODENA  (a  little  nonplussed,  resorting  to  flattery). 
You  are  one  woman,  in^.  ihoiittwdL  *I -may -tell  you  that 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  57 

there  is  another  reason.  This  God  of  Child-birth  not 
only  perpetuates  a  false  distinction  but  is  one  god  the 
more  when  there  should  be  fewer. 

EMLA  (amazed).     Fewer? 

ODENA.  You  saw  yourself  how  the  God  of  the  Mas 
ter's  Drunkenness  stood  in  the  way  of  the  God  of  Early 
Rising.  Too  many  gods  interfere  and  we  cannot  get  on. 

EMLA.     On  to  what? 

ODENA.  If  there  were  fewer,  you  could  please  them 
more.  As  it  is,  what  pleases  one  annoys  another.  Fi 
nally,  if  there  is  only  one  god,  you  can  do  what  you 
want  with  him.  Because  you  can  cater  to  him  exclu 
sively. 

EMLA.  One  god?  Are  there  others  who  are  primi 
tive  survivals? 

ODENA.  Clever  priests  will  doubtless  find  them  so 
in  time.  In  oneness  there  is  all  the  power  there  is.  We 
must  simplify  therefore.  That  is  the  only  way  to 
get  on. 

EMLA.     But  what  do  you  wish  to  get  on  to? 

ODENA  (evasively).  To  get  on  to?  Why  everything 
that  is  to  come. 

EMLA  (practically).  I  wish  to  get  on  to  putting  this 
slave  to  death. 

ODENA  (amazed).  To  beat  her,  to  cut  off  her  ears, 
or  anything  that  won't  keep  her  from  working.  But  to 
put  her  to  death!  Such  a  thing  has  not  been  done. 

EMLA.  I  don't  know  why  things  are.  But  I  know 
that  women-slaves  are  not  like  maid-servants  and  that 
maid-servants  are  not  like  wives.  It  is  marriage 
that  makes  the  difference.  Marriage  is  not  much,  for 
after  all  Garthus  may  take  up  with  anybody  he  pleases. 
But  at  least  wives  are  not  maid-servants  and  they  can 
order  people  about.  Therefore  the  way  for  wives  to  get 
on  is  to  pretend  that  marriage  means  more  than  it  does. 
That's  why  I  want  this  slave  put  to  death.  It  is  not 
much,  for  it  will  not  hinder  Garthus.  But  at  least  it 


58  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

will  discourage  slaves.  Later,  we  will  try  to  discourage 
maid-servants.  Then,  we  will  try  to  discourage  him. 

ODENA  (with  decision).  Why  should  she  not  be  sac 
rificed  at  the  altar. 

EMLA  (with  a  scream  of  delight).  Will  she  do  as 
well  as  a  goat? 

ODENA.     With  the  proper  ceremony,  better. 

EMLA.  That  will  be  sure  to  discourage  others.  Es 
pecially  if  you  drain  her  blood  slowly  like  a  goat's. 

ODENA.     But  will  Garthus  object? 

EMLA.  She  is  not  his  slave  but  my  father's.  And 
my  father  will  not  know  about  it  until  it  is  over. 

ODENA.  And  if  he  should  object,  Garthus  can  go  to 
war  with  him! 

EMLA.     What  is  war? 

ODENA.  Men  fighting  each  other,  as  they  fight  with 
beasts. 

EMLA.  Men  killing  each  other?  (Vehemently.)  No, 
I  should  not  like  it  at  all.  There  are  not  enough  men 
to  go  rpund  as  it  is.  Garthus  has  six  wives  and  they 
must  share  him  with  maid-servants  and  slaves. 

ODENA.  But  war  is  only  a  little  different  from 
hunting.  Even  patriarchs  are  sometimes  killed  in  hunt 
ing.  Besides,  Garthus  is  beginning  to  grow  tired  of  it. 
He  was  hunting  when  he  came  across  this  slave  and  had 
time  not  been  heavy  on  his  hands,  he  would  not  have 
taken  up  with  her. 

EMLA.  That  may  be  all  well  enough.  But  I  will 
not  hear  of  this  war. 

ODENA.  And  hunting  is  no  longer  honorable  for  a 
patriarch.  In  spite  of  all  we  can  do,  the  slaves  will 
hunt  secretly.  Garthus  is  becoming  disgusted  with  it. 

EMLA.  No  war,  I  tell  you!  If  you  suggest  war  to 
Garthus,  I'll  suggest  something  that  you  won't  want 
at  all. 

ODENA  (annoyed  out  o\f  his  caution).  What  can  a 
brainless  woman  suggest. 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  59 

EMI/A  (indignantly).  Didn't  I  get  him  to  start  the 
temple  against  your  will?  Oh,  that  is  what  I  can  do,' 
I  will  say  it  is  not  seemly  that  anybody  build  the  temple 
but  priests !  You  must  do  all  the  digging  and  stone- 
hewing  and  building  yourselves. 

ODENA  (dumbfounded).     But — we  serve  the  gods! 

EMLA.  That  would  be  serving  the  gods.  And  many 
of  them  are  only  survivals  anyway. 

ODENA.  The  gods  do  no  work.  It  is  not  meet  that 
their  servants  should  work.  If  they  work,  it  will  be 
little  the  gods. 

EMLA.  But  Maga  works.  He  makes  things.  (Odena 
is  startled.)  A  head-dress  for  you. 

ODENA  (with  relief).  Oh  that!  But  that  is  not 
menial. 

EMLA.     What  is  menial? 

ODENA.     It  is  anything  that  is  productive. 

EMLA.  Your  temple  would  not  produce  anything, 
either. 

ODENA  (ignoring  this).  Besides,  no  one  else  could 
make  the  head-dress.  If  they  could,  it  would  be  menial 
too.  Whatever  anyone  else  can  make  is  dishonorable 
for  a  priest  to  make.  It  is  our  function  to  illustrate 
the  leisure  of  the  gods.  Priests  serve  the  gods  by 
doing  nothing — except  praising  them  and  telling  their 
exploits.  We  must  have  some  place  to  praise  them  in. 
The  more  work  it  costs  other  people,  the  more  honor 
for  the  gods. 

EMLA  (with  disconcerting  suddenness).  You  have  no 
beards.  Why  should  you  not  work  the  same  as  slaves? 

ODENA   (staggered).     You  have  no  beards  either. 

EMLA.  But  they  do  not  come.  You  have  to  shave 
every  day.  That  shows  you  should  work. 

ODENA  (in  confusion,  throwing  caution  to  the  winds). 
That  is  to  illustrate  our  weakness.  We  are  consorts  to 
the  gods. 

EMLA.     But  I  am  a  consort.     I  work.     (Discovering 


60  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

a  great  point.)  We  wives  are  all  of  us  belittling  him  to 
work. 

ODENA.  You  are  altogether  brainless.  What  would 
become  of  his  household? 

EMLA,  Then  let  the  other  wives  work.  The  head- 
wife  should  only  praise  him  and  tell  his  exploits.  I 
don't  know  why  things  are.  But  I  know  that  maid 
servants  can  order  women-slaves  and  wives  can  order 
maid-servants,  and  the  head-wife  can  order  the  other 
wives — while  she  lasts.  (Suddenly  she  grasps  the  idea 
toward  which  she  has  been  grouping.)  The  way  for 
wives  to  get  on  is  to  simplify.  There  should  be  only 
one  wife. 

ODENA.  One?  Garthus  could  never  get  along  with 
one  wife. 

EMLA.  What  difference  does  it  make  to  him  whether 
they  are  wives  or  not? 

ODENA.  You  know  nothing  whatever.  A  patriarch 
only  marries  to  see  who  the  next  patriarch  will  be. 

EMLA.     Is  that  what  it  is  for? 

ODENA.  How  could  they  choose  out  of  so  many 
children?  They  choose  only  from  the  children  of  the 
wives. 

EMLA  (triumphantly).  Then  they  should  choose  only 
from  the  children  of  the  head-wife.  It  would  be  easier. 

ODENA.  And  none  of  them  might  be  worth  choo*  ing. 
It  would  be  dangerous.  And  since  more  than  one  wife, 
the  more  wives  the  more  honor. 

EMLA.  If  it  is  only  for  honor  that  a  man  has  many 
wives,  then  the  honor  can  be  secured  in  some  other  way. 

ODENA.  How  unsafe  it  is  to  argue  without  a  knowl 
edge  of  history!  That  is  why  wives  were  invented — 
to  bring  honor.  The  father  is  honored  because  he  sells 
his  daughter  instead  of  giving  her  away.  The  husband 
is  honored  because  he  has  somebody  to  attend  to  his 
slaves  instead  of  attending  to  them  himself.  It  was  a 
clever  priest  who  discovered  that. 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  61 

EMLA.  Then  will  it  not  be  a  cleverer  priest  who 
discovers  how  one  wife  may  bring  more  honor  than 
many  ? 

ODENA   {grudgingly,   his  imagination   stirred).     Yes. 

EMLA.  I  will  tell  you.  She  will  do  nothing  but  il 
lustrate  his  leisure.  Do  nothing  but  tell  his  exploits  and 
spend  his  wealth.  Especially  by  changing  clothes. 

ODENA  {really  much  impressed  but  concealing  it  as 
well  as  he  can).  Who  ever  thought  of  such  a  thing! 

EMLA.  If  a  clever  priest  does  not  think  of  it  right 
away,  some  cleverer  priest  will  get  ahead  of  him. 

ODENA  {alarmed  at  possible  competition).  No  pa 
triarch  has  a  cleverer — 

EMLA.  So  Garthus  will  think  when  you  tell  him  you 
thought  of  it. 

ODENA  {adjusting  himself  rapidly  to  the  idea).  But 
his  other  wives? 

EMLA.  You  are  clever  enough  to  think  up  something 
for  them  to  be. 

ODENA.     Yes,  yes!    But  what? 

EMLA.  Some  middle  thing  of  course.  Which  is  and 
which  isn't.  You  could  make  them  it  with  a  beautiful 
ceremony. 

ODENA  {dazzled).  And  they  would  really  not  be 
much  different  from  what  they  are  already. 

EMLA.  And  if  they  were,  what  would  it  matter  ?  The 
ceremony  will  make  the  poor  creatures  feel  important 
again.  And  if  as  time  goes  on  they  find  that  being  it 
is  not  what  they  thought,  neither  they  nor  their  fathers 
can  do  anything  about  it. 

ODENA  {delighted  as  the  idea  unfolds).  If  they  ob- 
j  ect,  Garthus  can  go  to  war  with  them ! 

EMLA.     No  war,  I  tell  you! 

ODENA  {emphatically).  He  must  go  to  war.  Other 
wise  I  shall  not  make  you  the  only  wife  and  the  others 
— the  others  its. 

EMLA.    Oh  yes  you  will.    You  are  not  going  to  throw 


62  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

away  the  cleverest  idea  you  ever  had,  in  all  your  clever 
life.  What  will  you  call  what  you  are  going  to  make 
them? 

ODENA  (protesting).  That  will  need  many  sleepless 
nights.  There  is  much  hidden  meaning  to  signify. 

EMLA.  But  when  I  am  the  only  wife,  I  must  do 
something.  I  should  be  more  bored  than  Garthus,  in 
spite  of  changing  clothes  and  making  visits.  A  woman 
must  work  at  something. 

ODENA  (sharply).  Then  you  will  spoil  my  whole 
idea.  You  cannot  illustrate  leisure  and  do  anything  else. 

EMI/A.  Yes,  you  can.  If  you  do  something  which  is 
work  and  which  isn't. 

MARTA  (entering  Left  front).     I've  got  the  creature! 

EMLA  (with  fierce  eagerness).  What  does  she  look 
like? 

MARTA.  No  figure  whatever.  I  can't  imagine  what 
he  ever  saw  in  such  a  runt.  Why,  his  sixth  wife  has 
larger  feet. 

EMLA.     Odena  is  going  to  put  her  to  death. 

MARTA.     Has  Garthus  consented? 

EMLA.  No,  but  he  will.  Oh,  he  is  back  from  hunting 
already. 

GARTHUS  (To  Emla  and  Maria  who  run  to  him  as  he 
enters  Right  front,  in  a  rage).  Don't  speak  to  me. 
Your  father  is  no  patriarch. 

EMLA.     What's  the  matter? 

GARTHUS,  Don't  speak  to  me.  You  dishonor  me  by 
speaking  to  me. 

MARTA  (delighted}.  We  could  have  told  you  so  when 
you  bought  her. 

ODENA.     What  has  happened? 

GARTHUS.  I  shall  never  hunt  again.  That  what's 
happened. 

ODENA  (eagerly).     But  her  father? 

GARTHUS.  He  is  no  patriarch.  He  has  acted  like  a 
common  slave. 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  63 

MARTA.     We  could  have — 

GARTHUS.  You  would  never  believe  it.  No  self-re 
specting  patriarch  can  ever  hunt  again. 

ODENA.     What  has  he  done? 

GARTHUS.  Her  father  is  actually — eating  the  game 
he  kills.  Eating  it !  To  save  his  own  cattle.  Just  now 
I  met  his  hunters  carrying  it  home.  To  feed  his  own 
household  with! 

ODENA.     Impossible. 

GARTHUS.  I  saw  it,  I  tell  you.  He'll  be  selling  it 
next.  The  miserable  renegade  has  made  hunting  a 
business.  He  is  no  longer  fit  for  a  patriarch. 

ODENA  (very  gravely).  Undermine  his  own  social 
institutions?  He  should  be  punished. 

GARTHUS.     Punish  a  patriarch ! 

ODENA.  Certainly.  Why  not?  Society  must  protect 
its  institutions. 

GARTHUS  (bitterly  to  Emla).  I  might  have  known 
your  father  had  a  yellow  streak.  He  drove  too  sharp  a 
bargain  when  he  sold  you.  But  you  expect  fathers  to 
flim-flam  husbands.  I  never  dreamed  he  would  debase 
the  entire  patriarchal  order. 

MARTA.     We  could  have — 

GARTHUS.  No  self-respecting  patriarch  can  ever 
hunt  again.  What  on  earth  shall  I  do  with  myself  all 
day !  I  can't  drink  all  the  time.  Your  father  should  be 
— unpatriarched.  I  suppose  you  will  be  doing  some 
thing  undignified  next  and  bringing  disgrace  upon  my 
household.  Like  father,  like  child. 

MARTA.     If  I  were  head-wife  again — 

GARTHUS.  I  can't  hunt.  Visiting  bores  me.  I  will 
not  change  any  more  clothes.  (To  Odena.)  You  will 
have  to  think  up  something  respectable  for  me  to  do. 

EMLA  (quickly,  as  Odena  is  about  to  seize  the  oppor 
tunity}.  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do.  That  is  supremely 
respectable.  Go  to  war  with  my  father. 

GARTHUS.     War ! 


64  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

EMLA.  Show  him  how  to  treat  patriarchs  who  debase 
their  order.  He  is  unworthy  of  being  the  father  of 
your  head-wife.  You  owe  it  to  me  to  punish  him,  to 
yourself,  to  society. 

GARTHUS.  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  No  pa 
triarch  ever  went  to  war. 

EMLA.  No  patriarch  ever  disgraced  the  noble  pas 
time  of  hunting. 

GARTHUS  (helplessly  to  Odena).  What  do  you  think 
of  it? 

ODENA.  You  must  protect  the  patriarchal  honor. 
Emla  is  a  fit  head-wife  for  a  patriarch.  She  proves  she 
is  no  child  of  her  father's. 

MARTA  (bewildered  and  chagrined).  Her  father 
can't  even  manage  his  own  slaves. 

EMLA  (threateningly).  Do  you  want  Garthus  to  put 
that  slave  to  death? 

MARTA  (brow-beaten).     Yes. 

EMLA.     Then  you'd  better  let  me  attend  to  it. 

GARTHUS.     What  slave? 

EMLA  (imperiously  to  Marta).  Go  get  Garthus  some 
thing  to  drink. 

GARTHUS.     What  slave? 

EMLA  (reluctant  to  open  the  subject  at  so  unfortu 
nate  a  moment).  The  slave  you  met  on  the  mountain 
yesterday. 

GARTHUS  (indifferently).  Oh,  that  one?  Why  should 
I  put  her  to  death? 

EMLA.     Because  you  have  taken  up  with  her. 

GARTHUS.     Well,  I  like  that! 

EMLA.  Because — because — (she  turns  to  Odena  to 
help  her  out). 

ODENA.  Because  she  is  her  father's  slave  of  course. 
Are  you  not  going  to  war  with  him? 

GARTHUS.  That  is  all  well  enough.  But  she  said  it 
was  because  I  took  up  with  her.  And  what  she  says  all 
my  household  will  be  saying.  I  shall  do  no  such  thing. 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  65 

It  will  reflect  on  me.  Put  a  slave  to  death  because  I 
took  up  with  her ! 

ODENA.  But  you  went  beyond  your  household.  It 
is  unpatriarchal. 

GARTHUS.     I  don't  care  what  it  is. 

ODENA  (changing  his  tactics).  It  won't  cost  you 
anything.  She  is  not  your  slave. 

GARTHUS.  What  do  I  care?  What  is  one  slave  more 
or  less  in  the  world?  But  I  will  not  put  her  to  death 
because  I  took  up  with  her.  It  will  reflect  on  me. 

ODENA  AND  EMLA  AND  MARTA.     But 

GARTHUS  (in  desperation).  Be  quiet  all  of  you! 
First,  a  patriarch  dishonoring  himself  like  a  slave  eating 
his  own  game.  And  now,  a  slave  put  to  death  because 
a  patriarch  has  honored  her.  The  world  is  going  mad ! 
I  am  going  to  get  drunk!  It  is  the  only  honorable 
thing  left  me.  (He  stalks  into  his  bedroom  and  savage 
ly  draws  the  curtain.) 

MARTA   (helplessly).     What  shall  we  do? 

EMLA.  So  you  thought  you  could  manage!  Go  get 
him  his  drink  at  once.  (Maria  goes  out  meekly  Right 
front,  holding  up  her  key.)  You  said  you  would  devise 
some  way,  otherwise,  I  wouldn't  have  let  him  go  to  war. 

ODENA.  Some  way  will  come.  But  only  after  a 
sleepless  night. 

EMLA  (energetically).  I  am  going  to  get  on  to  kill 
ing  that  slave  at  once.  Sacrifice  her  now  and  think  up 
a  reason  afterwards. 

ODENA.     But  what  reason? 

EMLA.  He  said  to  kill  her  would  discredit  him. 
Then  to  let  her  live  must  discredit  him  still  more.  Thai 
must  be  the  reason.  But  the  thing  is  to  kill  her  now 
while  he  is  getting  drunk.  (Delighted.)  Oh,  and  you 
can  wear  your  new  head-dress.  (Marta  comes  in  with  a 
jug  of  wine  and  goes  into  the  back  room.)  And  at  the 
same  time  you  must  announce  what  she  and  the  other 
wives  are  to  be.  What  are  they  to  be? 


66  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

ODENA  (protesting).  These  are  matters  of  weighty 
importance.  Such  things  cannot  be  done  without  sleep 
lessness. 

EMLA  (to  Maria  as  she  re-enters  and  goes  Right 
front).  Did  he  drink  it  right  down? 

MARTA.     Yes.     Another  at  once. 

EMLA  (to  Odena  delightedly).  He  will  be  very 
drunk.  You  will  have  till  tomorrow  to  think  up  the 
reason.  (To  Maria.)  The  other  wives  will  be  in  at 
breakfast.  Give  them  the  slave  and  we  will  get  on  at 
once.  (Maria  goes  Right  front.)  But  you  can't  have 
until  tomorrow  to  think  up  a  name  for  the  other  wives. 
For  you  must  sacrifice  this  slave  right  away. 

ODENA   (dismayed).     Without  a  new  ceremony? 

EMLA  (firmly).  You  must  sacrifice  her  at  once  with 
out  ceremony,  and  you  must  wear  your  new  head-dress. 
That  and  the  sacrifice  of  a  slave  will  give  all  the  more 
distinction  to  what  the  other  wives  will  be  when  you 
have  named  them.  (Odena  expostulates.)  No.  You 
go  right  ahead  and  when  the  times  comes  the  name  will 
come  too.  (Maria  enters  with  another  jug  of  wine.) 
The  slave? 

MARTA  (grimly).  They  have  her.  (She  hurries  into 
room.) 

EMLA  (as  a  noise  of  women's  voices  is  heard). 
They're  coming.  (The  wives  enter  Right  front ,  pulling 
and  jeering  at  a  woman  bound  in  their  midst.)  Hush, 
he  may  interfere.  He's  not  too  drunk  yet.  (The  wo 
men  throw  the  slave  in  front  of  the  altar.  Maria  re 
turns  hastily).  More? 

MARTA.     Yes.      (She  runs  out  Right  front.) 

EMLA  (going  to  the  slave  and  surveying  her  from  all 
points).  What  could  he  see  in  her ?  How  disgracefully 
small  her  hands  are.  Her  body  is  like  an  ant's. 

THE  WIVES  (variously).  Her  feet  are  useless.  Her 
ankle  bones  are  slimmer  than  an  antelope's.  She  has 
wrists  like  a  gazelle.  She  has  the  bosom  of  a  priest. 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  67 

EMLA.  Odena  is  going  to  put  her  to  death.  (The 
slave  with  a  moan  sinks  to  her  knees,  as  Maria  returns 
hastily  with  another  jug.)  He  will  sacrifice  her  and 
drain  her  blood  slowly  like  a  goat's. 

MARTA  (pausing  contemptuously  to  survey  her).  The 
creature  looks  to  have  less  blood  than  a  goat. 

ODENA  (thoughtfully  measuring  the  slave  and  the 
altar  with,  his  eyes).  If  we  sacrifice  her  on  the  altar, 
we  must  double  her  up. 

EMLA.  Quickly!  You  must  get  your  head-dress. 
(To  Maria.)  Quickly!  He  must  be  very  drunk  or  he 
will  interfere.  (Maria  starts  to  go.)  Stop !  (She  runs 
and  seizes  the  jug — to  Odena  triumphantly.)  That  is 
your  reason ! 

ODENA.     What? 

EMLA.  This !  (Holding  the  jug  to  the  mouth  of  the 
slave.)  Drink!  (The  slave  after  a  wondering  moment 
drinks.  Emla  splashes  some  of  the  wine  on  her  and 
hands  the  jug  back  to  Marta.)  Hurry!  (Marta  goes.) 
Hurry!  Get  on  your  head-dress.  (Odena  goes.  To  the 
women  who  have  been  watching  the  profanation  of  the 
tabu  in  horror  and  in  amazement.)  Not  a  word  now  or 
after.  You  shall  see. 

(They  wait  in  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  Odena 
with  his  head-dress,  on  which  the  third  horn  is  now  set 
in  place,  appears.  He  is  followed  by  Maga,  who  is 
followed  by  Akra.  Maga  bears  a  pail  and  Akra  a  long 
knife,  and  all  three  have  their  mantles  on.  All  the  wives 
exclaim  at  the  beauty  of  the  head-dress.  At  this  mo 
ment,  Marta  screams  from  behind  the  curtain  and  ap 
pears  running.  After  her  reels  Garthus,  beating 
her.) 

GARTHUS.  Why  don't  you  fill  the  pitcher!  Why 
don't  you  fill  the  pitcher !  (He  sees  them  all  and  stag 
gers  to  the  front.)  What's  all  this?  (The  procession 
has  come  behind  the  altar  as  Garthus  staggers  below  it. 
He  sees  the  slave.)  Shall  not  put  her  to  death  I  tell 


68  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise      ACT  II 

you !  Will  go  to  war  but  won't  put  her  to  death.  'Fleet 
on  me. 

EMLA  (in  a  ringing  voice).  Odena,  tell  Garthus  what 
this  slave  has  done! 

ODENA.  She  has  broken  the  most  sacred  tabu  of  the 
patriarchs.  She  has  drunk  of  the  wine  of  the  head  of 
the  household. 

GARTHUS  (scarcely  believing  his  ears).  She?  Drunk 
— my  wine?  (He  staggers  towards  the  slave  incredu 
lously  and  bends  over  her  and  sniffs.)  The  slave  has 
'scredited  me.  And  my  household.  Let  her  be  sac'- 
ficed. 

EMLA  (as  Akra  hands  Odena  the  Jcnife).  Wait.  The 
sacrifice  should  come  last.  Tell  Garthus  what  his  other 
wives  are  to  be.  (As  Odena  expostulates.)  Tell 
him! 

ODENA.  Garthus,  I  have  invented  a  new  honor  for 
you. 

GARTHUS.  Need  one.  Won't  change  clothes.  Won't 
visit.  Can't  hunt.  Must  go  to  war.  For  somethin' 
'speccable  to  do.  What  is  it? 

ODENA.  The  greatest  honor  ever  invented  by  any 
priest  for  any  patriarch.  Your  head-wife  Emla  will  do 
all  the  clothes  changing  and  visiting  for  you,  as  you 
yourself  suggested.  She  will  do  more  than  this.  She 
will  do  nothing  at  all.  She  will  illustrate  your  leisure 
for  you.  All  the  other  patriarchs  will  envy  your  wealth. 
For  you  have  a  wife  who  will  spend  it  for  you  and  do 
nothing  at  all. 

GARTHUS.     Great  idea!     Clever,  clever,  clever  priest! 

EMLA.     Go  on. 

ODENA.  But  in  order  that  this  may  be  accomplished 
with  seemliness,  with  seemliness — your  other  wives  will 
be — no  longer  be  your  other  wives.  They  will  be — 
they  will  be — 

GARTHUS.     What  will  they  be? 

EMLA  (to  the  helpless  Odena).     Go  on. 


ACT  II      The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  69 

ODENA  (floundering  more  and  more}.  Something 
which  is  and  which  is  not. 

AKRA  (suddenly).  I  have  it.  (He  whispers  to 
Odena.) 

ODENA  (with  relief).  As  I  was  about  to  say,  they 
will  be  concubines. 

GARTHUS.     What  are  conk'bines? 

EMLA.  That  will  make  no  difference  to  you.  As  far 
as  you  are  concerned,  they  will  be  just  the  same  as 
before. 

GARTHUS  (coming  to  her  with  maudlin  satisfaction). 
And  what  will  you  be,  darling  Emla? 

EMLA  (she  waves  him  away;  he  totters  and  falls  with 
drunken  good  nature).  I  shall  be  just  the  same  as  I 
was  before,  too.  Except  that  I  shall  be  your  only  wife 
and  do  nothing  but  save  you  from  being  bored.  And  get 
you  unheard  of  honor.  By  reciting  your  exploits,  by 
spending  your  wealth,  and  illustrating  your  leisure.  I 
shall  do  nothing  whatever  that  is  productive.  (With  an 
inspiration,  pointing  to  the  head-dress,  she  strains  back 
her  jaw  and  then  bands  her  head.)  Oh,  I  shall  make 
lovely  uncomfortable  things  like  head-dresses !  (As  the 
curtain  falls,  Garthus  utters  feeble  hurrahs.) 

CURTAIN. 


ACT  III 

THE  DRAPERIES  OF  SOCIETY 

A  Gothic  garden.  In  the  back  is  seen  the  donjon  of 
the  castle.  Horizontally  along  the  middle  of  the  stage 
runs  the  hedge  which  marks  the  beginning  of  the  gar 
den,  three  feet  high;  in  the  center  the  main  entrance 
surmounted  by  an  arched  trellis.  Within  the  enclosure, 
on  the  right,  is  a  semi-circular  stone  bench  flanked  by 
two  ornamental  box  trees  in  pots.  They  are  clipped  into 
approved  shape:  the  one  on  the  left  is  a  cylinder  sur 
mounted  by  a  globe — the  one  on  the  right  is  a  square 
surmounted  by  a  triangle  standing  on  its  apex  and  this 
in  turn  is  surmounted  by  a  globe.  On  the  left  of  the 
entrance  a  lower  box  hedge  cuts  off  the  space  into  an 
other  plot,  slanting  to  the  left  by  steps.  This  is  divided 
at  each  step  by  hedges  of  similar  height  into  little 
squares  and  oblongs.  Within  each  of  these  is  a  center 
piece  of  flowers,  an  aviary,  a  cage  with  rabbits,  etc. 

The  lady  of  the  castle  is  seated  upon  the  stone  bench. 
Her  hair,  which  has  just  been  died  yellow  with  saffron, 
is  pulled  through  a  large  straw  peasant's  hat  which  has 
been  made  cr&wnless  for  the  occasion;  and  the  locks  are 
now  drying  in  the  sun.  She  is  a  comely,  placid,  and 
forceless  lady;  kindly  and  well  meaning,  though  neither 
tact  nor  logic  is  her  strong  point.  Over  her  locks  bends 
a  young  woman,  bestowing  with  a  brush  the  finishing 
touches.  She  is  black-browed  with  a  wealth  of  black 
hair,  and  a  sullen  and  fierce  expression.  Conspicuously 
not  the  cultivated  product  which  the  other  ladies  are, 
she  is  not  only  more  massively  planned  but  is  in  her 

70 


ACT  III    The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  71 

natural  proportions  entirely  unrestricted.  She  is  thus  in 
decided  contrast  to  the  tubular  architecture  of  the  lady 
of  the  castle  and  her  five  maidens.  These,  all  with  their 
hair  loose  upon  their  shoulders,  are  seated  upon  the  turf 
around  the  stone  bench  embroidering.  In  the  back  near 
the  entrance  sits  carding  wool  an  old  woman  who,  it  will 
appear,  is  the  country  nurse  of  the  young  woman  who 
has  been  dyeing  the  hair.  Toward  the  left  sprawls  with 
studied  pictures queue rss  a  troubadour  with  his  lute.  He 
has  just  finished  a  song  as  the  curtain  rises. 

EMELIE.  But  the  one  touch,  Madame.  Now  all  will 
soon  be  dry.  (She  puts  aside  her  brush,  sits  upon  the 
turf  with  the  others,  takes  up  her  embroidery  frame  with 
vexation,  and  awkwardly  begins  to  work  with  unac 
customed  fingers.) 

MARTHE.     Will  it  become  me,  girls? 

YOUNG  LADIES  (variously).  Beautiful.  Exquisite. 
Like  gold.  The  very  saffron  itself. 

BLANCHE.     Anything  would  become  madame. 

MARTHE  (raising  a  hand-glass  from  her  lap).  Not 
so  bad  as  I  feared.  What  a  pity  no  one  can  ever  see 
it.  Now  sing  it  again. 

RUDEL  (singing).  Yellow  her  locks  were  like  gold, 
like  saffron  that  dots  the  mead.  Her  eyes — 

MARTHE  (petulantly).  Stop.  I  don't  see  why  they 
all  have  them  gray-blue. 

RUDEL  (reproachfully).  All  ladies  will  soon  desire 
your  eyes,  Madonna.  My  songs  will  make  you  the  non 
pareil. 

MARTHE.  Nevertheless,  there  are  no  stories  and 
ballads  about  brown  ones.  Emelie,  has  your  nurse  no 
way  to  change  the  eyes  also?  Nurse,  have  you  no  herb 
in  your  mountains  to  make  brown  eyes  gray-blue? 

NURSE  (rising  to  speak  in  the  explosive  tone  which  is 
habitual  to  her).  The  hair,  yes.  But  as  for  the  eyes, 
God's  will  be  done.  (She  sits.) 


72  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise    ACT  III 

MARTHE.  What  a  pity!  Emelie,  why  did  you  never 
change  your  hair? 

EMELIE.     I  saw  no  reason,  madame. 

MARTHE.  Poor  child,  there  were  no  troubadours  in 
your  mountains  to  tell  you  what  ladies  should  look  like. 
(The  young  ladies  cast  sly  glances  at  each  other.  It  is 
evident  they  regard  Emelie  with  jealousy  and  treat  her 
with  covert  derision.) 

EMELIE.     It  would  not  become  me. 

MARTHE  (with  suspicion  that  her  taste  has  been  ques 
tioned).  What  does  that  matter?  No  one  will  ever  see 
it  except  your  lover.  Unfortunately,  as  he  can  never 
tell  anyone,  it  is  not  very  satisfactory. 

EMELIE.  But  your  husband?  (The  young  ladies 
titter.) 

MARTHE.  Why  should  he  think  anything  about  it 
whatever?  It  would  perhaps  annoy  him  if  his  wife 
proved  to  have  no  hair  at  all.  But  that  is  as  far  as  he 
will  go. 

EMELIE.     Still— 

MARTHE  (vigorously).  Don't  saw  the  air  and  call 
attention  to  your  hands.  They  look  as  if  they  had 
churned  and  milked. 

EMELIE  (rebelliously).  They  have!  (The  young 
ladies  exchange  smiles.) 

MARTHE.  They  have  no  air  of  fragility.  You  must 
wear  a  longer  sleeve.  If  it  slopes  to  the  palm,  it  con 
fuses  the  eye  and  gives  the  effect.  Your  shoes  were  to 
be  done  today.  I  said  three  inches  longer  than  the 
foot  but  they  should  be  at  least  five.  And  if  they  curl 
up  at  all,  one  can  guess  the  exact  length  of  your  feet. 
Poor  child,  your  nurse  must  have  allowed  you  to  walk 
on  them  too  much. 

NURSE  (rising).  Who  was  to  drive  the  herd,  I  should 
like  to  know?  And  buy  her  shoes?  (She  sits.) 

MARTHE  (with  a  slight  scream).  Barefoot?  (The 
young  ladies  exchange  glances.)  No  wonder  her  feet 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  73 

spread.  Your  poor  mother  would  have  been  scanda 
lized.  Her  feet  were  kept  so  little  they  always  hurt. 

EMELIE  (muttering  as  she  jabs  her  needle  viciously). 
Fine  job  that! 

MARTHE.  As  for  your  figure !  One  must  begin  in 
the  cradle  to  have  a  figure.  Girls  should  never  be  un- 
swaddled.  Unless  your  ribs  are  squeezed  in  while  they 
are  soft,  of  course  they  will  expand  too  much.  One 
would  not  even  guess  you  had  stays  on. 

EMELIE.     I  haven't.      (The  young  ladies  titter.) 

MARTHE  (reprovingly).  Didn't  you  borrow  a  pair 
until  yours  were  made? 

YOUNG  LADIES  (variously).  She  couldn't  get  mine 
on.  Nor  mine.  Nor  mine.  Of  course  she  couldn't  get 
mine  on. 

BLANCHE.     She  couldn't  get  any  of  ours  on. 

EMELIE  (bursting  out).  Why  should  I  cramp  my 
body  in  those  things?  I  can't  breathe. 

MARTHE.  A  lady  is  not  supposed  to  breathe  in 
gulps.  Do  you  wish  to  look  coarse  and  strong  as  a  man  ? 
Nature  intended  women  to  be  delicate  and  not  to  re 
semble  men  in  any  way  whatever. 

EMELIE.     Nature  intended  me  to  be  what  I  am. 

MARTHE.  Of  course,  if  you  did  not  assist  her.  One 
is  supposed  to  assist  nature.  You  must  find  out  what 
nature  wants  and  then  assist  her.  If  she  had  wanted 
you  to  be  a  man,  she  would  have  made  you  one,  would 
she  not? 

EMELIE   (sulkily).     I  suppose  so. 

MARTHE.  That  is  proof  positive  she  wanted  you  to 
be  a  woman.  Therefore,  you  should  assist  her  in  mak 
ing  you  what  she  wanted.  It's  as  plain  as  the  catechism. 

NURSE  (rising).  Tie  up  her  body  in  those  things, 
she  will  have  children  in  pain.  And  they  will  be  puny. 
(She  sits.) 

MARTHE  (shocked).  Women  are  supposed  to  have 
children  in  pain.  Doesn't  the  Bible  say  so?  As  for 


74  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise    ACT  III 

their  being  puny,  that's  as  absurd  as  the  other  is  sacri 
legious.  If  men  are  taller  in  your  country,  why  so  are 
the  mountains?  (To  Emelie.)  Put  on  your  hat  and 
let  me  see  if  you  have  learned  to  walk  in  it.  (The 
young  ladies  titter  in  expectation  as  Emelie  gets  her  hat 
and  puts  it  on.  It  is  a  steeple-cock  and  from  the  tip 
drags  a  heavy  veil.  This  obliges  the  wearer  to  carry 
the  edifice  about  4-5  degrees  from  the  perpendicular, 
which  alone  could  make  it  endurable.  The  weight  and 
strain  are  apparent  in  Emelie's  gait.)  Don't  walk  as 
if  it  were  uncomfortable !  A  lady  is  of  course  more 
uncomfortable  than  a  peasant  but  she  is  not  supposed 
to  show  it. 

EMELIE.     The  veil  drags  so. 

MARTHE.  It  will  be  much  longer  when  you  are  mar 
ried.  Though,  poor  child,  you  won't  have  to  trouble 
about  that.  (Warningly.)  Eyelids  low,  eyes  on  ground 
twelve  yards  in  front,  not  a  glance  to  right  or  left.  When 
sitting  in  the  presence  of  gentlemen,  always  study  your 
lap,  except  for  an  occasional  answer  to  a  question. 
Girls,  illustrate.  Now!  (Young  ladies  study  their  laps 
and  then  direct  a  startled  glance  upwards.)  There's 
not  much  use  practicing  in  shoes  that  fit  you.  Cant  the 
top  of  you  forward  to  take  up  the  strain  on  the  hat. 
When  you  have  your  new  shoes  on,  you  must  at  the  same 
time  cant  your  thighs  backward  to  take  up  the  extra 
length  at  the  toes.  You  can  do  it  easily  if  you  think 
you're  made  in  two  sections.  Enough  for  the  present. 
(Emelie  removes  her  hat,  sitsf  and  jerks  up  her  embroi 
dery  savagely.)  Blanche. 

BLANCHE.     Madame? 

MARTHE.  Your  father  has  permission  from  the 
Baron  to  marry  you. 

BLANCHE  (with  mild  interest).     What's  his  name? 

MARTHE  (with  placid  roguishness) .  Unless  he 
changes  very  much  after  marriage  you  will  find  him 
clean  and  civil. 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  75 

BLANCHE  {rising  nervously).  Oh  madame!  Do  I 
know  him? 

MARTHE.     One  of  our  own  young  men. 

BLANCHE  (with  increasing  apprehension).  Oh  ma- 
dame!  It  is  not  fair.  To  marry  me  to  someone  I 
already  know. 

MARTHE  (sternly).  Are  you  objecting?  To  a  match 
your  father  and  the  Baron  have  made  for  you? 

BLANCHE.     No,  madame.     But  which,  which  is  he? 

MARTHE.     Hugh  de  Losan. 

BLANCHE  (with  a  cry).  Oh  madame,  my  heart  told 
me!  Let  me  speak  with  you  alone. 

MARTHE.     Blanche?     Leave  us. 

(The  young  ladies  go  out  left  by  Center.  Emelie 
goes  out  Left  front,  followed  by  the  nurse  bearing  her 
hat.) 

BLANCHE  (as  Rudel  rises  also).    No,  let  him  stay. 

MARTHE    (suspiciously).     Him?     Very  well,  remain. 

BLANCHE  (walking  up  and  down  in  agitation  until  the 
others  have  departed ',  then  in  a  low  despairing  voice.) 
Madame,  I  must  break  the  vow  of  secrecy.  I  cannot, 
will  not,  marry  Hugh  de  Losan.  I — I  have  accepted 
him  as  my  lover. 

MARTHE  (with  consternation).  My  poor  child,  what 
a  catastrophe!  (After  a  moment.)  Why  did  you  ask 
that  Rudel  remain? 

BLANCHE  (wildly).     To  advise  us! 

MARTHE.  He  has  not — not  been  making  love  to  you 
himself? 

BLANCHE,     Oh  no,  madame! 

RUDEL    (reproachfully).     Divinity,   what   suspicions! 

MARTHE.  You're  the  only  troubadour  who  praises 
brown  eyes. 

RUDEL.     They  are  yours,  goddess. 

MARTHE.  Hers  too.  I'm  not  going  to  have  my  trou- 
dabour  make  songs  that  I  pay  for  to  someone  else. 

RUDEL.     My  queen! 


76  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise    ACT  III 

MARTHE.  Well,  /  never  asked  you  to  swim  a  river 
or  leap  a  chasm.  You're  not  mixing  me  up  with  your 
other  lady? 

RUDEL.  Enchantress,  I  meant  that  I  would  if  you 
did.  I  have  many  mouths  to  feed.  I  must  have  many 
voices.  But  I  have  only  one  heart. 

BLANCHE.  How  can  you  talk  of  songs  when  my 
heart  is  breaking?  Think  of  my  position.  My  father 
commands  me  to  marry  my  lover! 

MARTHE  (with  the  utmost  sympathy).  But  I  don't 
see  what  can  be  done  about  it.  (To  Rudel.)  Do  you? 

RUDEL.     In  what  degree  is  he  your  lover? 

BLANCHE.     All  of  them. 

RUDEL.  He  went  through  the  four  degrees  with 
regularity?  He  hesitated  and  you  encouraged  him? 
When  you  honored  him,  he  confessed  his  pangs.  You 
retained  him?  Then  when  you  raised  him  to  the  degree 
of  one  listened  to,  you  granted  him  a  kiss?  And  the 
rest  in  due  course? 

BLANCHE.     Yes. 

RUDEL,  I  fear  if  he  becomes  your  husband  you  have 
degraded  yourself.  The  only  chance  is  some  flaw  in 
the  ceremony.  Describe  it  exactly. 

BLANCHE.  He  placed  himself  on  his  knees  before 
me.  Both  knees  in  plumb,  his  two  hands  joined  between 
mine.  He  swore  he  thus  devoted  himself  to  me  and 
would  obey  orders.  I  raised  him  to  his  feet  and  led 
him  with  a  chain  of  flowers  tied  with  one  of  my  hairs. 
In  token  he  was  my  slave. 

RUDEL.  How  can  he  be  your  husband,,  having 
solemnly  sworn  by  all  the  ceremonies  his  life-long  de 
votion  ! 

MARTHE.  You'll  both  have  to  put  up  with  it  as  best 
you  can.  Much  good  it  would  do  you  anyway,  to  refuse" 
to  marry  him. 

BLANCHE.  But  madame !  I  have  promised  Henri  de 
Beuve  to  take  him  for  my  servant  in  case  I  lost  Hugh. 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  77 

MARTHE.  You  told  him?  Told  him  the  name  of 
your  lover? 

BLANCHE.  Oh  no,  madame.  But  I  know  he  sus 
pects.  And  when  I  marry  Hugh,  he  will  claim  my 
promise. 

MARTHE.  Well,  what  is  there  so  dreadful  about 
that?  He  is  clean,  and  has  nice  manners.  Besides, 
when  Hugh  marries  you,  he  will  naturally  cease  to  be 
your  lover  and  go  elsewhere. 

BLANCHE  (sobbing).  But  I  don't  want  him  to  go 
elsewhere  and  I  don't  want  to  go  elsewhere  either. 

MARTHE.  Oh  yes,  you  will.  When  he  can  command 
your  favors,  he  will  no  longer  desire  them.  (Blanche 
sobs  the  louder,  she  goes  on  consolingly).  You  will 
change  your  mind  after  you've  been  married  a  while. 

BLANCHE.     I  won't !     I  won't ! 

MARTHE  (sternly}.  A  lady  must  do  as  other  ladies 
do.  Are  the  laws  of  society  to  be  overturned  on  your 
account?  (A  horn  blows).  Botheration!  See  who  it 
is  arriving.  If  it  is  a  knight,  he  will  sit  at  the  gate 
until  I  come  out  to  meet  him.  And  I  can't  put  on  my 
wimple  until  my  hair  is  quite  dry.  (Blanche  goes  right 
by  Center.)  It  can't  be  Heloise  so  early.  (To  Rudel.) 
What  can  two  such  clean  and  civil  fellows  see  in  that 
poor  simpleton? 

RUDEL.  Flower  of  the  earth!  Eyes  for  the  milky 
way  in  face  of  the  effulgent  moon? 

MARTHE  (much  pleased).  You  have  not  said  that  to 
your  other  lady? 

RUDEL.  Super-eminence!  My  heart  is  here  always. 
Double  my  wages  and  my  voice  will  be  here  always. 

MARTHE.  When  you  sing  to  her,  do  you  think  of 
me? 

RUDEL.  She  is  only  an  accident — of  my  having 
many  mouths  to  feed.  If  she  doubles  my  wages,  I 
could  afford  to  be  your  slave  for  nothing. 

(He  goes  Right  front  as  Liane  is  seen  at  the  back. 


78  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise    ACT  III 

She  is  a  charming,  aristocratic,  and  richly  dressed  wo 
man  of  thirty.  Her  -figure  presents  the  same  tubular 
effect  as  that  of  the  others,  though  her  clothes,  of  the 
same  style,  have  an  elegance  that  is  indefinably  of  the 
city.  Her  wimple,  under  which  is  visible  the  structure 
of  two  enormous  side-rolls  of  coiffure,  completely  covers 
her  hair  with  the  exception  of  two  gigantic  braids  which 
hang  almost  to  her  feet,  one  on  each  side.  These  braids, 
however,  are  entirely  encased  in  white  cloth,  laced  with 
ribbons.  After  her  comes  a  tall  and  powerful  peasant. 
He  bears  awkwardly  in  both  arms  a  huge  wicker  bird 
cage  open  at  the  top.  In  this  on  a  cross-piece  standing 
r'T"  shaped  from  the  bottom  is  a  gaily  colored  parrot. 
After  the  man  comes  Blanche,  who  ushers  them  in  and 
goes  out  left  behind  the  hedge. 

LIANE  (as  she  comes).     Sister! 

MARTHE.     Liane!     How  delightful  and  unexpected! 

LIANE.     Dear  Marthe! 

MARTHE.  I  am  dyeing  my  hair.  I  don't  dare  get 
up  in  this  hat. 

LIANE  (gaily  as  she  pulls  off  her  gauntlets  and  hands 
them  to  the  man,  who  gazes  awkwardly  over  the  cage). 
Set  it  down.  My  parrot  from  Turkey.  I  have  made 
them  all  the  fashion.  I  take  him  everywhere  with  me. 
Designed  the  cage  myself.  Open  at  the  top,  so  that 
Sultan  may  come  out  when  he  pleases.  (To  the  man.) 
Here,  you  must  learn  to  take  these,  so,  and  bow.  (He 
takes  them.)  There!  (Coming  to  Marthe  and  seizing 
her  hands.)  Sister! 

MARTA.     How  do  you  like  it? 

LIANE.     Fortunately  no  one  will  see  it. 

MARTHE  (crossly).  They  are  forever  talking  and 
singing  of  our  hair,  yet  we  must  always  keep  it  covered 
up.  If  it  is  so  beautiful,  why  may  we  not  show  it  to 
men? 

LIANE.  My  dear,  if  you  begin  to  speculate  why  men 
want  women  to  do  what  they  do,  you  will  never  finish. 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  79 

The  wise  woman  always  does  what  they  want  and  has 
her  own  way  at  the  same  time.  They  want  us  to  have 
lots  of  hair  and  not  show  it.  Very  well,  behold  me, 
do  I  not  manage? 

MARTHE.  Why,  Liane,  your  braids?  Have  they 
something  to  make  it  grow  in  Paris? 

LIANE  (lifting  up  her  braids).  Oh,  yes!  Though 
they  show,  they  do  not  show.  It  is  very  fortunate. 

MARTHE.     But  you  used  to  have  so  little. 

LIANE.  And  so  I  said  when  I  was  a  girl,  "Thank 
God  men  want  the  wimple,  though  God  knows  why." 
For  it  hid  how  little  I  had.  And  still  I  say  "Thank 
God  men  want  the  wimple  though  God  knows  why." 
For  it  hides  how  much  I  have.  (Laughing,  she  undoes 
her  wimple,  throws  it  o\ff,  disclosing  her  monstrous  coif 
fure.)  In  Paris  only  the  queen  may  show  her  hair,  con 
sequently  she  hasn't  as  much  as  I  have.  Indeed,  poor 
creature,  her  hair  is  quite  scraggy.  She  has  nothing  to 
pin  more  onto. 

MARTHE  (scrutinizing  her).  But  it  is  not  only  that 
there  is  more  hair. 

LIANE  (laughing).  It  is  also  that  there  is  less.  I 
have  no  eyebrows. 

MARTHE.  Poor  Liane!  You  have  scorched  them  off 
with  your  paint. 

LIANE.     An  idea  of  my  own. 

MARTHE  (amazed).    What  for? 

LIANE,  I  said  to  myself,  "God  knows  why  men  and 
priests  desire  women  not  to  show  their  hair.  It  is  stu 
pid  but  I  must  take  things  as  I  find  them.  Very  well, 
they  shall  see  even  less  than  they  see  now."  Off  go 
my  eyebrows.  The  effect  is  amusing  and  charming.  In 
a  short  while  there  are  no  female  eyebrows  in  Paris. 
Even  the  queen  shaves  hers  off,  pretending  she  thought 
of  it  first.  Poor  creature,  she  lacks  logic  as  well  as 
ideas.  Since  she  shows  the  hair  on  her  head,  the  effect 
is  one  of  poverty. 


80  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise    ACT  III 

MARTHE.  But  at  first?  Were  people  not  scandal 
ized  ? 

LIANE.     Br-r-r-r-r !     The  Cardinal  comes  to  see  me. 

MARTHE.     You? 

LIANE.  "My  daughter,  this  is  a  grievous  sin;  the 
Church  forbids  women  to  cut  their  hair."  I  am  covered 
with  confusion  and  astonishment.  "Father !"  I  cry. 
"The  Church  commands  a  woman  not  to  show  her  hair. 
If  I  have  committed  sin,  it  was  to  avoid  sin.  Also  I  did 
not  cut;  I  shaved." 

MARTHE.     The   Cardinal  came  to  see  you? 

LIANE.  I'm  very  important  to  the  Cardinal.  "My 
daughter,  you  must  get  more  money  from  the  Count  for 
the  new  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame.  It  will  go  far  to 
cleanse  you  of  your  evil  life. — My  daughter,  get  the 
Count  to  oppose  the  English  alliance.  It  will  go  far 
to  cleanse  you  of  your  evil  life. — My  daughter,  the 
Countess  has  smiled  upon  the  Albigensian  heretic,  bid 
the  Count  be  stricter  with  his  other  household.  It  will 
go  far  to  cleanse  you  of  your  evil  life."  Oh,  I  am  of 
great  service  to  his  Reverence.  Besides,  he  pinches  my 
chin. 

MARTHE  (mournfully).  The  queen,  the  Cardinal! 
Twenty  miles  to  Paris,  and  yet  I  have  never  been  there. 
I  go  nowhere,  see  no  one.  A  few  knights  and  squires, 
the  Bishop  perhaps.  Who  would  not  have  said  that 
I  was  the  most  fortunate  of  us  three  girls !  Yet  I  am 
only  a  housekeeper,  a  manager.  You  two  are  powers  in 
the  great  world.  Heloise,  the  Abbess  of  Saint  Deniers; 
you,  Liane,  the — the 

LIANE.     Mistress   of  the   Count. 

JEAN  (who  at  the  gate  has  been  growing  more  and 
more  restless).  Pardon,  madame!  Am  I  not  to  bring 
in  the  hay? 

MARTHE  (in  surprise).     What  are  you  doing  here? 

LIANE.  At  the  gate  I  saw  him  cross  the  road.  "My 
God,"  said  I,  "he  is  the  very  giant  I  seek.  Here  my 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  81 

man,"  I  called.  "Take  my  parrot  and  follow."  Give 
him  to  me. 

MARTHE  (amazed).  Have  you  not  men  of  the 
Count's  ? 

LIANE.  I  have  reviewed  them  all.  I  was  in  despair. 
"But  wait/'  said  I,  "the  country  air  and  milk  have  per 
haps  composed  a  bigger  giant  than  we  have  in  town." 
Here  I  am.  And  there  he  is. 

MARTHE.     What  do  you  want  him  for? 

LIANE.     To  carry  my  parrot. 

MARTHE.     Your  parrot?     My  best  farmer? 

LIANE.  Another  of  my  ideas.  I  behold  there  is  no 
woman  in  all  Paris  with  a  man  for  a  lackey.  And  even 
the  Count's  lackeys  are  boys.  An  idea  knocks  at  my 
ear.  "Liane,"  I  say,  "'why  not  the  biggest  man  in  all 
Paris  just  to  stand  upon  your  staircase?  The  Count 
will  be  enchanted;  all  Paris  will  be  enchanted.  The  stu 
pid  Countess — the  poor  queen — all  will  follow  thy  ex 
ample."  I  remember  when  a  girl  this  Jean.  I  am  come. 
Behold  him.  He  will  be  most  imposing  with  my  parrot. 

MARTHE.     I  cannot  spare  my  best  farmer. 

LIANE.     Two  men  or  three  can  take  his  place. 

MARTHE.     He  has  a  family. 

LIANE.  They  may  go  or  stay  as  you  will.  If  they 
go,  they  will  be  glad.  If  they  stay,  he  will  be  glad. 
That  is  their  affair. 

MARTHE.     But  my  husband.     He  will  never  consent. 

LIANE  (laughing  confidently).  We  shall  see.  (Ta 
Jean.)  Go  and  wind  up  affairs.  (Jean  goe&.J 

MARTHE.     But  where  did  you  get  this  idea  ? 

LIANE.  It  is  not  difficult.  Unless  a  man  has  two 
establishments  in  Paris,  he  is  not  of  the  great  world. 
We  don't  keep  such  matters  secret  as  one  is  taught  to 
do  in  the  provinces.  In  Paris  a  man  says,  "What  is  the 
good  of  a  mistress  unless  people  know  it?"  Since  there 
are  two  establishments,  the  man  will  take  more  pride 
in  that  which  does  him  the  more  honor.  It  is  display 


82  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  III 

which  honors  a  man.  For  display  I  have  each  day  a  new 
idea.  I  hold  the  Count  by  my  ideas. 

MARTHE.  But  when  you  shall  no  longer  hold  him, 
my  poor  sister? 

LIANE»  My  poor  sister,  it  is  all  very  simple.  Why 
are  you  married?  Because,  being  the  eldest  of  three 
daughters,  you  go  with  the  land.  Heloise,  the  next, 
having  no  one  to  desire  her  since  she  has  no  land,  goes 
into  the  Church.  I,  the  third,  what  am  I  to  do?  Even 
so  young,  I  am  a  creature  of  ideas.  "Listen,  Liane,"  I 
say,  "no  one  will  marry  you,  you  will  not  marry  the 
Church.  Go  to  Paris  where  a  man  boasts  of  his  mis 
tress  to  the  world.  Not  as  here  to  himself  only.  Have 
new  ideas  every  day,  but  take  care  that  he  pays  for  all. 
Why  not,  it  is  for  his  honor?  Put  away,  coin  by  coin, 
jewel  by  jewel.  Then  if  the  day  comes  when  neither 
your  ideas  nor  charms  may  longer  hold  him,  where  are 
you?  You  buy  land  and  someone  will  desire  to  marry 
you  for  your  property/'  And  so  I  shall  end  where 
my  poor  sister  began,  and  meanwhile  life  amuses  me. 
Does  life  amuse  you?  But  no,  that  is  not  a  fair  ques 
tion.  You  see,  it  is  all  very  simple. 

MARTHE   (feebly).     But  it  is  immoral. 

LIANE  (surprised).  Have  you  not,  has  not  every 
woman  a  lover? 

MARTHE.  That  is  very  different.  No  one  knows 
about  it. 

LIANE.  Be  logical.  A  matter  of  knowledge  is  not 
a  matter  of  morality.  For  the  rest,  I  but  save  his  pres 
ents  instead  of  using  them  like  you. 

MARTHE.  But  a  lady's  lover  gives  her  nothing  she 
can  use.  Otherwise  people  would  see  and  guess.  My 
poor  child,  gifts  that  can  be  used  are  immoral. 

LIANE  (laughing).     So  be  it,  that  I  am. 

MARTHE.     And  think  of  what  you  lose. 

LIANE.  The  Cardinal  comes  to  see  me,  the  world  is 
on  my  staircase,  the  queen  copies  me.  What  do  I  lose? 


ACT  III    The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  83 

Let  others  puzzle  their  heads  about  what  things  should 
be  and  what  should  not.  I  puzzle  mine  with  original 
ideas.  How  to  make  use  of  the  amusing  pretences  with 
which  the  world  is  full.  If  the  world  were  different, 
my  ideas  would  be  different.  No  one  looks  down  upon 
my  children  because  I  am  not  the  Countess.  If  that 
should  ever  happen,  then  I  grant  you  I  should  be  los 
ing  something.  As  it  is,  what?  Two  things  I  may  pur 
chase  when  I  please.  A  name  and  a  girdle. 

MARTHE.     A  girdle? 

LIANE.  The  poor  queen  with  her  stringy  hair  which 
she  alone  may  show,  will  not  let  us  wear  our  girdles 
unless  we  have  names.  Why  she  hit  upon  a  girdle,  God 
knows.  But  very  well.  I  have  made  girdles  unfashion 
able.  Even  the  queen  would  take  hers  off  now,  but  it 
would  make  her  ridiculous.  Some  day  when  I  may 
no  longer  set  the  fashion,  I  shall  follow  fashions  set 
by  other  ladies  with  no  names  or  girdles.  It  is  amusing ! 

MARTHE   (plaintively).     It  is  all  very  mixed  up. 

LIANE.  My  dear,  I  look  upon  the  world  and  find 
everything  mixed  up.  The  Cardinal  scolds  me  in  gen 
eral  in  the  pulpit — Brrrr!  But  in  particular  he  visits 
me  and  asks  my  assistance.  (She  purrs.)  So  it  is 
everywhere  with  men.  Everywhere  pretences.  As  for 
women,  I  need  not  tell  you  what  they  pretend.  I  ask 
myself  will  the  poor  world  ever  be  logical.  I  answer 
impossible.  But  if  so,  a  clever  woman  will  make  the 
best  of  it.  Yet  then  it  will  be  difficult.  For  if  man 
were  not  pretending,  I  could  not  flatter  him  by  telling 
him  he  is  what  he  isn't.  Man's  illogicality  is  woman's 
opportunity. 

MARTHE  (a*  a  horn  blows).  Oh,  perhaps  that  is 
Heloise ! 

LIANE.     Heloise  ? 

MARTHE.  She  sent  me  word.  (Embarrassed.)  You 
see  I  didn't  know  you  were  coming. 

LIANE  (laughing  merrily  at  her  embarrassment).   Too 


84  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  III 

late  now.  (Walking  aside.)  But  the  Abbess  is  used  to 
black  sheep. 

(Heloise  enters.  The  Abbess  of  St.  Deniers  is  a 
stately,  able,  authoritative  woman  of  about  33  years. 
Her  dress  is  rich  and  elegant,  as  becomes  a  baroness 
in  her  own  right.  Under  it  is  to  be  seen  the  tubular 
architecture  evidenced  by  all  the  other  ladies.  Accord 
ing  to  the  habit  of  the  times,  the  sole  badge  of  her  of 
fice  is  a  white  turban,  the  drapery  o\f  which  entirely 
conceals  her  hair;  but  over  it  and  the  drapery  floats  a 
long  purple  veil.  She  has  been  accompanied  to  the  gate 
by  two  nuns,  dressed  aristocratically  but  alike.  She 
dismisses  them  with  a  wave  of  her  hand,  and  they  go 
out  left.) 

HELOISE.  I  knew  I  should  find  you  here.  Oh,  the 
time  you  have  to  waste! 

MARTHE.     My  dear  sister! 

HELOISE  (most  warmly).     Marthe! 

MARTHE.  Excuse  this  hat,  my  hair  is  drying.  (In  a 
low  voice,  embarrassed.)  Heloise,  Liane.  If  you  would 
rather 

HELOISE  (greeting  her  most  warmly).     Liane! 

LIANE.  You  have  a  new  veil.  I  told  you  the  red 
one  was  unbecoming. 

MARTHE  (surprised  though  relieved).  You  meet  some 
times  then? 

LIANE.     Often. 

HELOISE.     Various  matters  to  consult  about. 

MARTHE  (sighing  with  plaintive  good  humor).  I  go 
nowhere.  Not  since  we  were  girls  have  we  three  been 
together. 

HELOISE.     First,  the  matter  on  which  you  wrote  me. 

MARTHE.     Tell  me,  is  my  new  hair  becoming? 

HELOISE.     My  dear,  business  before  pleasure. 

MARTHE.     But 

LIANE   (laughing).     Perhaps  I'm  in  your  way. 

MARTHE.     No,  dear.      (Embarrassed,  she  decides  to 


ACT  III    The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  85 

begin.)  Since  my  letter  comes  another  most  important 
matter.  Now  I  shall  have  your  advice  on  both.  It  was 
Emelie  I  wrote  you  of.  You  remember  our  mother's  old 
friend  in  the  mountains?  After  her  death,  her  hus 
band  was  given  the  property  of  a  widow  in  the  south. 
He  left  his  two  children  to  get  along  as  best  they  could. 
The  land  could  only  fit  out  the  boy  and  keep  him  in 
Paris.  The  little  girl  ran  wild  with  her  peasant  nurse 
and  has  grown  up  a  shocking  savage.  Her  chest  is  posi 
tively  robust!  I  thought  I  could  do  no  less  for  her 
mother's  sake,  than  give  her  the  education  of  a  lady. 
But,  poor  child,  her  father  and  her  brother  will  never 
do  anything  for  her  of  course.  What  shall  I  do  with 
her  when  I  make  her  a  lady?  She  must  become  either  a 
nun  or — or 

LIANE  (briskly).  Or  the  supported  mistress  of  a 
man  of  her  own  rank.  Yes? 

MARTHB.  Well,  since  you  mention  it.  I  thought  you 
had  done  so  splendidly.  Wrong  as  it  all  seems  to  my 
old-fashioned  ideas !  If  you  had  rather  not  stay, 
dear  ? 

HELOISE.     Why  the  embarrassment? 

MARTHE  (nervously).     It's  very  foolish,  of  course. 

HELOISE.  My  dear  child!  Women  who  are  born  to 
property  have  no  occasion  to  think,  but  women  who 
are  not  must  think  clearly  and  speak  frankly.  In  our 
civilization — which  we  must  believe  is  the  best  so  far, 
since  it  sets  a  superstructure  of  Christianity  upon  a 
Greek  and  Roman  foundation — in  our  civilization,  a 
woman  has  no  place  in  the  scheme  of  things  except  as 
attached  to  something.  If  no  man  makes  her  his  wife, 
she  may  marry  the  Church.  If  neither  happens,  she 
must  attach  herself  to  some  man  irregularly.  Failing 
the  three,  she  starves.  Since  this  Emelie  has  no  prop 
erty,  unquestionably  no  man  will  marry  her.  She  must 
therefore  marry  the  Church  legally  or  some  man  ille 
gally.  Or  shall  we  say,  colloquially? 


86  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  III 

MARTHE  (more  embarrassed  at  this  candid  speech). 
Wei,  then,  that  seeming  to  be  the  case — distressing  as  it 
is 

HELOISE.  You  want  to  know  which  career  will  be 
better  for  her. 

MARTHE.     My  dear,  you  take  my  breath  away. 

HELOISE.  Nonsense,  my  dear.  You  didn't  expect  a 
nun  to  have  the  silly  pruderies  of  a  wife,  did  you? 
What  has  she  to  bring  to  the  cloister? 

MARTHE  (feebly).  I  thought  she  came  because  she 
couldn't  bring  anything. 

HELOISE.  My  dear!  All  convents  have  more  appli 
cants  than  they  can  accept.  Consequently,  selection  is 
necessary.  What  is  her  particular  fitness  for  the  life 
of  a  nun  ? 

MARTHE  (plaintively).  Only  that  no  one  wants  her. 
She  is  not  meek;  she  is  not  self-effacing;  she  has  no 
notion  of  woman's  first  duty,  self-sacrifice. 

HELOISE.  My  dear,  you  talk  like  a  country  sermon. 
I  am  the  last  person  to  depreciate  the  idea  of  self- 
sacrifice  as  an  abstract  religious  principle.  But  a  con 
vent  is  an  institution  which  church  and  society  have  de 
vised  as  the  best  means  to  dispose  of  the  unattached 
woman.  And  if  she  ever  really  went  to  it  to  illustrate 
self-sacrifice,  she  certainly  does  so  no  longer. 

MARTHE.     Not  self-sacrifice! 

LIANE  (impatiently).  My  dear!  It  is  not  self-sac 
rifice  to  find  some  place  to  go  to. 

HELOISE.  Self-sacrifice  is  not,  in  our  civilization, 
either  the  motive  or  the  result  of  going  into  a  convent. 
Look  at  ourselves.  As  things  have  turned  out,  it  is  you, 
poor  dear,  who  are  sacrificed.  Besides,  I  have  traveled 
all  over  Europe;  you  never  leave  your  castle.  I  meet 
my  equals  everywhere  at  all  times  and  on  equal  foot 
ing;  you  meet  only  your  inferiors,  who  flatter  you  for 
their  own  reasons.  I  have  studied  the  Latin  poets  and 
the  Greek  philosophers;  you  can,  at  a  pinch,  write  a 


ACT  III    The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  87 

letter,  but  you  never  see  a  book.  I  am  a  landlord  to  my 
own  right;  you  hold  your  own  fief  by  consent  of  an 
other.  I  have  two  incomes,  spiritualities  from  my 
churches  and  temporalities  from  my  lands;  you  are  your 
husband's  steward  and  can't  spend  your  own  money 
without  his  permission.  I  may  send  my  men-at-arms 
where  I  will;  yours  must  go  where  they  are  bid.  We 
nuns  are  the  only  women  in  the  world  who  are  eco 
nomically  free.  In  our  civilization  a  convent  offers  a 
woman  her  only  chance  of  self-development. 

LIANE.     Ahem!     Have  I  not  developed  myself? 

HELOISE.  Well,  at  least,  the  home  offers  her  no 
chance  whatever.  Your  Emelie's  qualifications  for  the 
convent  ? 

MARTHE.  I — I  suppose  she  has  the  virtues  of  any 
young  woman  of  her  class. 

HELOISE.     Perhaps  her  vices  show  more  individuality. 

MARTHE.     She  is  rebellious. 

HELOISE.  Good.  We  want  women  of  moral  and 
physical  courage. 

LIANE.  Bad  for  me.  You  must  seem  to  rebel  but 
submit.  It  is  the  way  to  be  charming. 

MARTHE.     She  is  proud. 

LIANE.  Bad.  You  must  seem  to  be  proud  but  not 
be.  It  is  the  way  to  be  charming. 

HELOISE.  Good  for  me.  A  woman  who  is  to  be  in 
dependent  of  a  man  has  a  right  to  be  proud. 

MARTHE.  She  complains  of  the  lot  to  which  heaven 
has  called  her.  (Liane  shows  impatience.) 

HELOISE.  I  begin  to  be  interested  in  your  Emelie. 
But  I  am  a  business  woman  conducting  a  business  en 
terprise.  My  convent  must  keep  up  its  reputation. 
Has  she  head  enough  to  become  a  scholar,  or  will  she 
read  and  write  only  a  little  better  than  the  average 
man?  Has  she  skilful  hands.  Can  she  become  an  ar 
tist,  a  physician?  My  nuns  must  all  be  capable  of  dis 
tinguished  work. 


88  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  III 

MARTHE.  I  thought  she  had  only  to  say  her  prayers 
and  fast  and  that  sort  of  thing. 

HELOISE.  My  dear,  why  come  to  a  convent  to  do 
what  she  can  do  at  home? 

MARTHE.  But  she  has  no  home.  She  has  to  go  some 
where. 

HELOISE.  Convents  cannot  become  over-crowded  sim 
ply  because  women  have  no  other  place  to  go. 

MARTHE.  It  is  all  very  confusing.  Perhaps  it  is  my 
hat. 

HELOISE.  My  dear!  In  our  civilization  a  woman 
must  either  by  her  property  or  her  personality  win  the 
favor  of  an  individual  man.  Otherwise,  she  starves  or 
goes  into  a  convent.  If  a  convent,  she  finds  no  men 
there.  Consequently,  in  a  convent,  she  is  judged  for  the 
first  time  as  men  are  judged.  For  her  merits  rather 
than  for  her  charms.  As  a  mistress,  she  is  judged  by 
her  charms.  As  a  wife,  she  is  judged  by  neither.  The 
day  may  come  when  civilization  will  permit  a  woman 
to  marry  as  a  profession.  That  is,  to  capture  what  hus 
band  she  wishes,  not  merely  because  she  has  property 
but  by  reason  of  her  charm  also.  At  present,  she  may 
by  the  latter  capture  only  a  lover.  As,  theoretically 
speaking,  there  are  no  lovers  in  convents,  an  unattached 
woman  who  has  charm  should  not  select  a  convent  as  a 
field  to  exhibit  it  in.  There  it  is  merit  and  not  charm 
that  tells.  But  one  cannot  expect  the  day  will  ever  come 
when  a  man  will  marry  a  woman  without  property  for 
her  merits.  Consequently  if  she  is  ever  to  develop  her 
merits,  it  must  be  in  the  cloister.  I  am  a  business 
woman  conducting  a  business  enterprise  but  I  have 
also  the  future  of  woman  at  heart.  Do  you  not  see 
then  that  it  is  a  good  thing  for  religion  and  for  so 
ciety,  as  well  as  for  my  convent,  that  I  select  girls  be 
cause  they  are  able  to  be  and  do  something? 

MARTHE.     But  the  priests  tell  us 

HELOISE    (for   the   first   time   betraying   impatience). 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  89 

The  priests !  They  have  no  education  whatever.  They 
know  nothing  of  the  past,  so  how  can  they  have  the 
future  at  heart?  Particularly  of  women. 

MARTHE.  But  self-sacrifice  is  such  a  sweet  idea.  For 
poor  girls  who  need  comfort  because  they  have  no  place 
to  go. 

HELOISE.  The  convents  of  Europe  are  overflowing 
with  applicants.  If  the  day  ever  comes  when  the  sac 
rifices  are  greater  than  the  rewards,  or  if  she  has  to 
sacrifice  more  there  than  at  home,  I  predict  there  will 
be  no  waiting-list. 

MARTHE.     Why  do  they  tell  us  about  it,  then? 

HELOISE.  I  am  the  last  person  to  depreciate  self- 
sacrifice  as  an  abstract  religious  principle.  But  they 
tell  us  self-sacrifice  because  they  wish  us  to  make  a  vir 
tue  of  a  necessity.  It  is  well  to  make  one's  necessity 
a  means  of  grace.  On  the  whole  it  is  a  wise  policy. 
Especially  when  women  can  get  round  it,  as  we  do  in  the 
convent. 

HELOISE,     Then  Emelie? 

HELOISE.  Liane  and  I  will  quietly  observe  her.  To 
see  whether  she  will  succeed  through  her  merits  or  her 
charms.  The  other  case. 

MARTHE.  Blanche.  {Impressively.)  Her  father 
has  picked  out  her  lover  to  be  her  husband. 

LIANE.     My  God! 

MARTHE.  But  worse.  She  has  a  lover  on  the  waiting 
list.  I  tell  her  if  she  marries  the  present  one,  of  course 
she  must  accept  the  other.  Or  she  has  lost  her  honor 
and  is  degraded. 

LIANE.  It  is  too  ridiculous,  how  marriage  compli 
cates  everything! 

HELOISE  (hesitating).  Officially,  I  am  not  justified 
in  pronouncing  an  opinion. 

LIANE  (laughing).  Oh,  poor  Heloise!  Of  course  an 
Abbess  may  have  no  opinion . 

HELOISE   (warmly).     Not  officially.     However,  I  am 


90  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  III 

also  a  woman  interested  in  the  advancement  of  women. 
Naturally,  this  Blanche  must  marry  where  she  is  bid. 
Ipso  facto,  her  husband  then  ceases  to  be  her  lover.  Are 
you  sure  she  has  compromised  herself  with  the  second 
one? 

MARTHE.  She  has  accepted  his  presents  in  the  name 
of  love. 

HELOISE.  Then  if  she  violates  her  oath,  she  is  doub 
ly  degraded.  A  woman  must  either  refuse  presents 
offered  in  the  name  of  love,  or  accept  them  with  the  un 
derstanding  that  she  rewards  them  when  free.  When 
her  other  lover  frees  her — that  is,  marries  her — she  must 
accept  him. 

MARTHE.     But  she  refuses. 

HELOISE   (with  authority).     She  must  accept  him. 

LIANE  (laughing}.  Oh,  my  poor  Heloise!  An  ab 
bess  prescribe  a  lover! 

HELOISE.  I  speak  not  as  abbess  but  as  woman  in 
terested  in  the  advancement  of  women.  I  hope  I'm 
not  unworthy  of  my  calling.  But  I  am  a  scholar  and 
have  pondered  the  teachings  of  history.  If  a  lady  is 
allowed  to  break  the  laws  of  love,  now  at  last  formu 
lated,  the  advancement  of  woman  is  threatened. 

LIANE  (much  interested).  Begone,  Abbess;  speak, 
woman ! 

HELOISE.  Marriage  is  a  matter  of  securing  property 
rights.  Man  has  never  thought  that  love  and  marriage 
except  by  accident  went  together.  The  Greeks  and 
Romans  looked  to  their  wives  only  for  lawful  offspring, 
their  love  they  found  elsewhere.  Their  opinion  is  voiced 
by  Metellus.  "If  we  could  get  along  without  wives, 
we  should  all  dispense  with  the  nuisance."  When  Chris 
tianity  came  along  it  too  considered  marriage  a  duty 
rather  than  a  pleasure,  though  a  duty  man  would  do 
well  to  escape  if  he  could  and  woman  if  she  must.  But 
the  theory  still  remained  as  before.  Man  desires  mar 
riage  only  for  economic  considerations. 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  91 

MARTHE  (weakly).  Could  this  yellow  have  gone  to 
my  head? 

LIANE  (impatiently).  You  had  the  property.  There 
fore  you  were  married.  Married  early  and  often. 

HELOISE.  Now,  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of 
civilization  woman  is  theoretically  admitted  to  be  man's 
equal.  In  one  respect  only.  Her  attitude  toward  mar 
riage. 

LIANE  AND  MARTHE.     How? 

HELOISE.     She  objects  to  it  also. 

MARTHE  (warmly).  They  take  it  when  they  can  get 
it. 

HELOISE.  So  do  men.  Because  of  property.  Men 
object  to  it  because  it  curtails  their  liberty.  Not  so 
women,  for  they  never  had  any  liberty  to  curtail.  But 
the  objection  is  in  reality  the  same.  That  it  destroys 
love.  Love  can  exist,  say  women,  only  where  it  is  free 
and  unbound.  Thus  for  the  first  time  do  men  meet 
women  on  a  common  ground  as  equals.  This,  the  truth, 
is  important;  but  the  humbug  is  even  more  impor 
tant. 

LIANE.     Humbug? 

HELOISE.  To  secure  this  equality,  woman  has  made 
use  of  man's  greatest  weakness.  His  much-boasted 
ability  to  make  a  woman  fall  in  love  with  him.  And  she 
has  secured  not  only  equality  but  her  theoretical  superi 
ority  also.  The  male,  however,  does  not  admit  the  su 
periority  of  the  female.  Only  the  lover  admits  the 
superiority  of  his  mistress.  Hence  it  is  not  true  but 
humbug.  Nevertheless,  the  pretence  is  of  the  utmost 
importance,  since  no  man  ever  pretended  it  before.  It 
is  by  pretences  that  civilization  arose,  and  it  is  because 
of  this  greatest  of  pretences  that  our  civilization  is 
greater  than  those  which  have  gone  before. 

MARTHE.  My  dear,  you  make  my  head  swim.  Or  is 
it  this  hat? 

HELOISE.     A  woman  cannot  choose  her  husband  but 


92  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  III 

she  can  choose  her  lover.  Hence  the  husband  does  not 
have  to  please  the  wife,  but  the  lover  has  to  please  the 
mistress.  The  man  who  praises  her  most  pleases  her 
best.  Furthermore,  circumstances  sometimes  compelled 
him  to  make  his  rhetoric  good  or  become  ridiculous. 
Thus  his  diction  forced  him  into  action.  Especially 
those  professional  lovers,  poets  and  troubadours.  Fur 
thermore,  a  man  may  behave  as  he  pleases  to  his  wife, 
and  neither  Church  nor  State  can  prevent.  But  he  may 
not  behave  as  he  pleases  to  his  mistress,  or  she  will 
choose  another  lover.  Thus  the  attitude  of  man  toward 
woman  has  changed  though  his  distaste  for  marriage  re 
mains  the  same.  Not  because  of  his  recognition  of  the 
rights  of  his  wife,  for  she  has  none.  But  because  of  the 
demands  of  his  mistress,  who  has  at  last  elevated  love 
into  a  game  like  fencing,  with  its  own  rules  and  regula 
tions. 

LIANE  (demurely).  I  always  knew  I  was  an  impor 
tant  person. 

HELOISE.  As  an  abbess,  I  do  not  condone  the  break 
ing  of  the  marriage  vow.  But  as  a  woman  of  the  world, 
I  see  that  nobody  keeps  it  anyway.  And  as  a  logical 
student  of  history,  I  see  that  marriage  existed  before 
Christianity,  that  it  is  still  not  founded  upon  love  or  free 
will,  and  that  Christianity  in  itself  affords  a  woman 
even  fewer  rights  than  did  the  Greeks  and  Romans. 
For  though  she  was  divorced  oftener,  she  herself  could 
divorce  in  return.  It  is  love  and  not  religion  that  has 
advanced  woman.  Hence  your  Blanche  must  not  dis 
credit  the  laws  of  love,  for  profane  as  they  are  they 
have  elevated  woman  more  than  Christianity  has  ever 
done. 

MARTHE.  This  hat  seems  to  overpower  me.  7s  my 
hair  quite  dry? 

LIANE  (examining  her  hair).  My  dear,  your  doc 
trines  are  not  Christian,  they  must  be  dangerous.  Yes, 
it  is  quite  dry. 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  93 

MARTHE.  Then  take  it  off.  I  feel  as  if  I  was  stand 
ing  upon  my  head. 

LIANE  (taking  it  off).  Are  you  sure  Christians  were 
meant  to  survey  the  past? 

HELOISE.  When  men  change  their  ridiculous  logic, 
I  will  change  mine. 

LIANE.     How  change  their  logic? 

HELOISE.  Since  Christianity  came  in,  both  man  and 
the  Church  have  treated  marriage  with  profound  illogi 
cality.  Because  they  have  sought  to  elevate  a  transfer 
of  property  into  a  matter  of  sentiment.  And  both  of 
them  unite  in  saying  "with  all  my  worldly  goods  I  thee 
endow"  when  the  woman  who  couldn't  be  married  ex 
cept  for  her  property  does  the  only  endowing  there  is 
in  the  business.  But  I  predict  that  if  marriage  ever 
does  become  a  matter  of  sentiment,  then  indeed  the 
Church  will  be  right  in  saying  that  it  demands  of  a 
woman  self-sacrifice.  (Jean  passes  the  hedge.) 

MARTHE  (much  shocked).  My  dear!  Oh,  Jean,  here 
is  your  hat. 

JEAN  (ruefully  regarding  the  crown).  I  can't  buy 
another  till  Michelmas. 

LIANE  (laughing).  You  won't  need  it  on  my  stair 
case.  Shall  we  not  have  the  damsels  in? 

MARTHE.  Summon  my  damsels.  (Jean  goes.)  I 
may  announce  you? 

LIANE.  Well  thought  of.  I  have  a  new  name.  An 
other  of  my  ideas.  Lady  No  Girdle.  Madame  Sans- 
Ceintre.  Since  the  queen  forbids  me  to  wear  my  girdle, 
I  have  made  a  droll  name  of  it.  (To  Heloise.)  The 
Church  would  have  women  make  their  necessity  a  virtue  ? 
Behold  how  instinctively  I  follow  its  teaching.  When 
there  is  something  I  can't  help,  I  make  it  more  than  a 
virtue.  A  decoration.  (The  young  ladies  enter  at  the 
back  very  demurely.  They  have  great  curiosity  as  to 
the  visitors.) 

MARTHE  (as  they  come).    The  first  is  Blanche.    The 


94  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  III 

black  one  is  Emelie.  Why,  Emelie  is  not  here.  (Aloud.} 
Young  ladies,  my  sisters.  The  Abbess  Saint  Deniers 
and  Madame — Madame  Sans-Ceintre.  (The  young  la 
dies,  in  the  midst  of  the  second  demure  bow,  stop  and 
stare  at  Liane's  lack  of  girdle.)  Be  seated.  (They  all 
sit  down  at  ease  upon  the  ground  and  dispense  at  once 
with  demureness.  They  exchange  sly  looks,  apparently 
on  the  subject  &f  Liane's  name.)  The  Abbess  will  now 
give  us  some  edifying  remarks. 

(Emelie  is  seen  coming  along  the  back  of  the  hedge, 
her  nurse  expostulating  with  her.) 

NURSE.     I  tell  you  you  will  be  sick.     You  will  die! 

EMELIE.     Let  me  alone!     Don't  be  a  fool! 

NURSE,     You  will  ruin  yourself  entirely! 

EMELIE.  Let  me  alone  I  say !  (She  enters,  followed 
by  the  nurse.  Under  her  loose  gown  it  is  seen  that  her 
figure  has  become  tubular.  She  is  breathing  cautiously. 
The  stays,  like  those  of  the  other  ladies,  enclose  her 
entire  trunk  tightly  and  give  no  effect  &f  expansion  at 
the  bosom.) 

MARTHE.     Emelie ! 

EMELIE  (in  a  tone  rebellious  and  cramped).  Madame! 

MARTHE.     Oh,  your  stays  have  come. 

NURSE  (indignantly).  Look  at  her!  Where  I  ask 
you  has  the  rest  of  her  gone  to?  (The  young  ladies 
titter  merrily.)  The  good  god  never  meant  that  your 
outsides  should  be  your  insides. 

MARTHE.  Silence,  nurse!  The  good  god  meant 
women  to  look  as  though  they  might  break.  But  they 
never  do,  so  don't  be  impious. 

NURSE.  Where  I  ask  you  have  her  breasts  gone? 
Her  lights?  Her 

MARTHE.  Silence!  (To  Emelie.)  You  look  very 
nice,  my  dear. 

EMEUE  (grimly).  Thanks,  Madame.  (She  sways 
and  falls  into  the  arms  of  the  Nurse,  who  lets  her  ten 
derly  to  the  ground.) 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  95 

NURSE.  My  lamb!  (Angrily.)  I  told  you  I  ought 
not  to  strap  them  as  tight  as  I  could.  She  will 
die! 

BLANCHE.     Nonsense.     That  often  happens. 

MARTHE  (plaintively).  Of  course,  if  you  tried  to  do 
the  work  of  fifteen  years  in  a  minute !  If  you  had  kept 
her  ribs  soft  with  swaddling  bands,  they  would  bend  in 
more  easily. 

LIANE.     My  God,  what  hair  the  child  has! 

EMELIE  (to  the  nurse).     Go  away!     I'm  all  right. 

LIANE  (desiring  to  help  her  by  easing  the  situation). 
Madame  Abbess,  you  were  to  edify  us.  Why  do  men 
praise  our  hair  yet  never  permit  us  to  show  it? 

HELOISE.  The  subject  upon  which  I  am  asked  to  dis 
course  is,  like  all  of  our  customs,  a  primitive  survival 
modified  by  Christianity.  The  hair  was  once  considered 
a  source  and  later  a  symbol  of  strength.  To  cut  it  was 
a  mutilation  performed  by  the  powerful  upon  the  weak. 
In  the  pre-Roman  civilization  of  these  regions,  an  un 
married  girl  wore  her  hair  loose  and  flowing.  On  her 
wedding  day,  she  herself  cut  it  off  to  show  that  she  had 
become  a  servant  to  her  husband. 

LIANE.     Cut  it  off?     No  husband  is  worth  it. 

HELOISE.  The  Roman  bride  only  pretended  it  was 
cut  by  binding  it  upon  the  head.  With  Christianity,  the 
hair  took  another  aspect.  The  Scripture  says  that  it  is 
the  crowning  glory  of  women.  But  being  her  crowning 
glory,  it  was  often  her  crowning  allurement  and  hence 
her  crowning  shame.  If  allurement  it  should  be  hid.  If 
glory  it  should  be  sacrificed.  Thus  we  see  that  the  cus 
tom  of  hiding  the  hair  indicates  in  its  heathen  origin  the 
weakness  and  slavery  of  woman,  and  in  its  beautiful 
Christian  significance  the  allurement  to  man  which  is 
her  natural  depravity  and  the  sacrifice  to  man  which 
is  her  natural  duty. 

YOUNG  LADIES  (variously).  How  sweet!  How  nice! 
Self  sacrifice  is  so  lovely! 


96  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  III 

JEAN  (appearing  at  gate).  The  master  has  returned 
from  hunting.  And  with  him,  the  Bishop.  (He  goes. 
All  the  ladies  at  once  put  on  their  wimples.  These  the 
young  ladies  have  been  carrying  on  their  arms  or  as 
scarfs.  Emelie,  however,  drops  hers  suddenly  over  the 
low  hedge.  But,  like  the  others,  she  rises  as  the  Sieur 
Guillaume  de  la  Garthelaud,  the  Bishop,  Hugh  de  Losan, 
and  several  other  young  gentlemen  enter.  One  sees  at 
once  from  Blanche's  behavior  that  Hugh  is  her  lover. 
Guillaume  is  a  healthy,  active,  animal  nature,  endowed 
with  no  graces  of  mind  or  deportment,  but  with  as  much 
social  veneer  as  was  deemed  sufficient  for  a  man 
of  his  time,  whose  chief  contribution  to  society  was  his 
strong  arm;  nor  is  he  without  a  certain  childlike  charm 
of  naive  assurance,  varied  with  naive  bewilderment  upon 
encountering  anything  he  cannot  understand.  He  is  ac 
companied  by  the  Bishop  of  Orleans.  Acrinus  of  Or 
leans  is  attired  according  to  his  fancy,  as  were  most 
clericals  of  the  time.  He  affects  all  the  extravagances 
of  the  exquisite  of  his  day,  and  the  only  sign  of  his  re 
ligious  function  is  his  tonsure.  His  hair  is  long,  and 
his  clothes  suggest  more  a  military  than  a  clerical.  He 
has  a  knife  attached  to  his  richly  ornamented  girdle, 
many  rings  upon  his  fingers,  green  shoes  highly  turned 
up  at  the  toes;  and  upon  his  hand  is  perched  a  hunting 
hawk.) 

MARTHE  (going  and  kneeling  to  him  for  his  blessing). 
Father ! 

ACRINUS.     My  daughter! 

MARTHE  (rising  and  introducing).  My  sisters.  The 
Abbess  of  Saint  Deniers.  (The  gentlemen  all  bow,  the 
Bishop  with  marked  coldness.)  Madame — Madame 
Sans-Ceintre.  (All  the  gentlemen  in  the  act  of  bowing 
stop  and  stare  at  Liane's  lack  of  girdle.)  His  Rever 
ence,  Bishop  Acrinus  of  Orleans.  My  husband,  Sieur 
Guillaume  de  la  Gartheland.  (Guillaume  and  the  Bishop 
walk  at  once  to  Liane.) 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  97 

HELOISE  (quietly  to  Marthe).  Emelie  has  not  put  on 
her  wimple. 

MARTHE  (in  consternation).  Emelie!  (Turning  to 
her.)  Your  wimple ! 

EMELIE  (putting  her  hands  to  her  head,  and  in  a  loud 
voice  which  attracts  the  attention  of  all).  My  wimple! 

YOUNG  LADIES  (scandalized  but  in  tones  colored  with 
jealousy,  annoyance,  or  malice).  She  has  not  put  it 
on! 

GUILLAUME  (lustfully).     What  hair! 

LIANE  (to  herself).     She  has  lost  it  on  purpose. 

MARTHE  (severely).  A  lady  should  always  have  it 
ready  in  case  gentlemen  arrive. 

ACRINUS  (significantly).  My  child,  no  woman  loses 
her  wimple.  Sometimes  she  forgets  where  she  last  put 
it. 

EMELIE  (her  arms  clasped  over  her  head,  as  if  to  hide 
her  hair).  Nurse,  where  is  my  wimple?  (She  takes  a 
threatening  step  forward  as  the  nurse  in  bewilderment 
turns  towards  the  hedge.) 

NURSE  (understanding  Emelie' 's  intention,  and  throw 
ing  up  her  hands  in  noisy  despair).  My  child  has  lost 
her  wimple!  My  child  has  lost  her  wimple! 

GUILLAUME  AND  HUGH  (stepping  toward  Emelie). 
Where  did  you  have  it  last?  How  could  you  have  lost 
it? 

MARTHE  (stopping  Guillaume).  No,  let  her  find  it 
herself! 

BLANCHE  (stopping  Hugh).  Hugh,  how  should  you 
know  where  her  wimple  is? 

HELOISE  (quietly  after  all  this  confusion).  Take  my 
veil.  (She  puts  her  purple  veil  over  Emelie's  head.  It 
completely  covers  her  hair,  which,  however,  shows  dis 
tinctly  through  it). 

EMELIE.  Oh,  thank  you,  Reverend  Mother!  Mon 
sieur,  Sieurs,  Reverend  Father !  I  am  covered  with 
confusion. 


98  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  III 

MARTHE  {aside  to  Helmse  and  Liane).  She  is  hope 
less.  For  all  of  us ! 

LIANE.     She  has  a  career. 

HELOISE.  I  will  take  her.  (Marthe  is  much  mysti- 
fed.) 

ACRINUS  {angrily,  as  Guillaume  laughs).  It  is  no 
laughing  matter.  She  may  be  clever,  she  may  be  stupid. 
Either  way,  she  is  impossibly  so. 

MARTHE  (anxious  to  recover  from  the  unfortunate  in 
cident).  Father,  will  you  address  a  few  words  to  the 
young  and  heedless? 

ACRINUS  (looking  sternly  at  Emelie).  Young  ladies, 
a  few  remarks  on  the  whole  duty  of  women.  In  the 
very  beginning  God  demonstrated,  as  St.  Augustine  so 
beautifully  observes,  that  woman  should  be  in  subjec 
tion.  Since  He  refused  to  make  her  in  His  own  image. 
But  no  sooner  was  she  created  than  he  put  her  under  a 
curse,  for  the  mischief  she  had  wrought  upon  innocent 
man.  Thus  her  subjection  and  her  depravity  go  hand 
in  hand.  When  Christianity  came  to  the  world,  it  found 
her  everywhere  in  subjection  as  was  meet  and  proper. 
But  did  it  abandon  her  to  her  inferior  state?  No,  rec 
ognizing  that  Original  Sin  came  through  woman,  it  il 
lustrated  the  beautiful  doctrine  of  forgiveness.  By  ele 
vating  an  institution  of  the  state  into  a  sacrament  of 
the  Church,  it  protected  inferior  woman  as  never  be 
fore.  Under  Roman  Law  there  was  nothing  sacred 
in  marriage,  and  man  could  cast  you  off  at  his  pleasure. 
But  now  the  Church  will  not  allow  you  to  be  cast  off, 
except  for  reasons  of  utmost  importance.  In  return  for 
this  supreme  protection  never  before  extended  to  woman, 
it  asks  of  you  only  self-sacrifice. 

YOUNG  LADIES  (variously).  How  beautiful!  How 
noble !  So  sweet ! 

ACRINUS,  Young  gentlemen,  the  weak  should  sacri 
fice  themselves  gladly,  but  the  strong  have  services  of  a 
more  positive  nature.  I  would  speak  of  what  befits  your 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  99 

manhood.  The  woman  having  no  importance  of  her  own 
naturally  seeks  to  illustrate  the  importance  of  her  father 
or  husband  by  outward  adornment.  If  you  array  your 
selves  in  the  fineries  and  fopperies  of  woman,  there 
fore,  you  imitate  one  who  is  in  subjection.  It  is  well 
that  woman  should  illustrate  the  strength  of  man,  but  it 
is  not  well  that  man  should  imitate  the  weakness  of 
woman. 

(The  young  ladies  receive  this  edification  coldly  and 
look  at  each  other  with  sly  expressions  of  disapproval). 

MARTHE.     What  a  pity !     Men's  clothes  are  so  nice. 

LIANE  (who  during  this  speech  has  suddenly  become 
very  interested,  and  has  assumed  the  position  of  one 
trying  to  think  out  an  idea  which  has  suddenly  seized 
her) .  A  beautiful  edification !  The  less  men  dress  the 
better ! 

HELOISE.  I,  too,  agree  with  the  Reverend  Father. 
But  for  a  wholly  different  reason.  When  a  man  dresses 
as  much  as  a  woman,  there  is  a  suspicion  that  he  can 
not  fight  or  do  a  man's  work.  That  he  is  more  interested 
in  displaying  his  importance  than  in  getting  it  in  the 
first  place. 

ACRINUS  (edgy  in  being  differed  from  and  exhibiting 
the  priest's  jealousy  of  the  abbess).  Why  is  the  Rev 
erend  Mother  so  manifestly  interested  in  her  own 
charming  attire?  She  works,  does  she  not?  And  at  a 
man's  task? 

HELOISE  (taking  his  personal  tone).  I  will  answer 
that  question,  Your  Reverence,  when  you  tell  me  why 
you  dress  so  well? 

ACRINUS.  To  illustrate  the  dignity  and  richness  of 
my  service. 

HELOISE.  And  I  have  the  additional  reason,  as  your 
Reverence  has  said,  of  having  no  importance  in  my  own 
sex.  Though  discharging  a  man's  task. 

ACRINUS  (more  annoyed).  No  woman  should  dis 
charge  a  man's  task.  It  is  against  nature. 


100          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  III 

HELOISE.  Your  Reverence  quotes  nature.  In  nature 
it  is  the  male  that  dresses,  not  the  female.  And  why? 
To  attract  the  attention  of  the  humble  female.  He  does 
not  choose  her,  she  chooses  him.  Thus,  by  his  argu 
ment,  the  Reverend  Father  would  seem  to  say  that  the 
male  in  nature  illustrates  his  own  weakness  by  his  su 
perior  finery.  The  weakness  of  having  to  be  chosen 
rather  than  to  choose. 

ACRINUS  {decidedly  raspy).  The  male  is  the  stronger 
because  he  is  able  to  dress  that  way.  The  female  cer 
tainly  would  if  she  could.  The  Reverend  Mother's  ar 
gument  is  obviously  fallacious.  Let  us  hope  that  the  im 
piety  of  which  it  also  savors  is  quite  unsuspected  on  her 
part. 

LIANE.  Well,  the  point  in  both  cases  is  the  same. 
Men  ought  not  to  be  so  dressy.  Women  should  assist 
the  Church  in  discouraging  it  as  much  as  possible. 

GARTHELAUD  (to  Acrinus).  Ask  her  now.  What  she 
is  down  here  for. 

ACRINUS.  But  the  Reverend  Mother  has  not  perhaps 
come  here  to  bandy  words  with  the  Bishop  of  Orleans  ? 

HELOISE  (puzzled  and  at  once  apprehensive").  I 
came  down  to  see  my  sister.  And 

ACRINUS.     To  bear  a  message  from  the  Baron. 

HELOISE.  Yes.  (She  goes  to  the  gate  and  summons 
her  two  nuns.  One  of  them  gives  her  a  document.  She 
reads.)  "To  the  Sieur  Guillaume  de  la  Garthelaud." 
(She  hands  it  to  him.) 

GARTHELAUD  (handing  it  to  Acrinus).     Read  it. 

ACRINUS  (handing  it  to  her).  You  may  read  it  to  the 
Sieur. 

HELOISE  (with  more  apprehension).  It  is  private. 
At  least,  there  is  nothing  to  the  contrary. 

ACRINUS.     Its  contents  are  public. 

HELOISE  (breaking  the  seal  and  reading).  "The 
Sieur  Guillaume  de  la  Garthelaud  having  now  been 
spouse  and  husband  to  Marthe  de  la  Garthelaud  for  three 


ACT  III    The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  1Q1 

years  and  having  had  by  her  no  child,  I  hereby  announce 
the  marriage  to  be  null  and  void  and  commission  him 
to  marry  again.  Such  marriage  to  be  as  follows.  Either 
he  shall  marry  according  to  my  designation  some  woman 
I  shall  give  him  with  her  land,  that  he  may  bring  chil 
dren  to  be  heirs  of  said  property;  or  said  Marthe  de  la 
Garthelaud  shall  voluntarily  relinquish  her  dowery  and 
marriage  to  another  of  her  own  designation,  and  he 
shall  marry  her  instead,  retaining  his  present  lordship 
of  her  lands  and  estates.  She  in  this  event  to  live  upon 
her  lands  and  estates  according  to  her  wish  or  to  retire 
with  all  honor  to  a  convent.  If  she  refuse,  I  will,  the 
present  marriage  being  annulled,  marry  her  to  another 
man  of  my  choosing,  who  shall  be  guardian  of  her  land 
until  she  present  him  with  an  heir  thereof.  Given  this 
day,  the  twelfth  of  August  in  the  year  of  our  Lord, 
1260,  by  me  the  Over  lord  of  the  Fief  and  Estates  of 
said  Marthe  de  la  Garthelaud. 

Francois  Courbise  de  Courbise — Baron." 

MARTHE  (staggering  helplessly).  Oh!  (Liane  has 
come  to  her  during  the  reading.  Heloise  also  now  puts 
an  arm  around  her.) 

HELOISE.     You  knew  of  this? 

ACRINUS.  I  was  not  unaware  of  his  lordship's  in 
tention. 

MARTHE  (wildly).  How  can  my  marriage  be  null 
and  void,  father?  Did  you  not  marry  us?  According 
to  the  regulations  of  the  Church?  Can  a  man  cast  off 
his  wife  because  she  brings  him  no  children?  Father,  I 
appeal  to  you ! 

ACRINUS.  My  daughter,  Holy  Church  protects  all 
marriages  within  her  pale. 

HELOISE.  You  seem  to  know  the  Baron's  mind. 
What  grounds  has  he? 

ACRINUS  (to  Garthelaud).  On  what  grounds  did  you 
appeal  to  the  Baron  to  annul  this  marriage? 

GARTHELAUD  (surprised  and  indignant).     I? 


102  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise    ACT  III 

ACRINUS    {quickly  and  sternly).     You! 

GARTHELAUD  (sulkily).  That  it  was  no  marriage. 
That  she  married  within  the  degree  of  spiritual  kin 
ship. 

LIANE.     How? 

GARTHELAUD.  I  was  godfather  to  her  third  husband's 
child. 

MARTHE.  Father!  I  deny  that  I  ever  saw  this  man. 
Until  the  Baron  selected  him  to  be  my  husband. 

ACRINUS.     Narrate  the  circumstances. 

GARTHELAUD.  We  served  in  Tripolis  together.  I 
brought  him  home  wounded  to  his  wife.  She  was  in 
childbirth,  and  the  alarm  of  the  wounded  master  plunged 
her  into  greater  danger.  It  was  feared  that  she  would 
die  and  with  her  the  unborn  child.  They  thought  both 
could  not  live,  and  decided  to  save  the  child. 

LIANE    (indignantly).     Oh! 

ACRINUS.     In  such  extremity  so  rules   Holy  Church. 

GARTHELAUD.  The  mother  lay  unconscious  and  was 
thought  dead.  The  child  threatened  each  instant  to 
expire.  Thus  it  was  hastily  baptized,  and  I,  being  there, 
stood  for  its  godfather.  But  it  was  the  child  who  died 
while  yet  its  mother  was  unconscious,  and  the  father 
also.  When  later,  the  Baron  gave  to  me  the  widow  and 
her  lands — such  was  my  sensitiveness  I  didn't  care  to 
remind  her  of  the  painful  first  meeting. 

LIANE.  And  when  did  your  conscience,  Sir,  finally 
become  as  sensitive  as  your  heart? 

GARTHELAUD  (sulkily  divining  her  satire).  What  are 
you  driving  at? 

LIANE.  When  did  you  at  last  discover  that  you,  the 
godfather  of  a  day-old  infant,  were  living  in  grievous 
sin  with  its  mother,  who  was  unconscious  during  all  the 
time  you  held  your  holy  office?  (Heloise  seeks  to  hush 
her.) 

GARTHELAUD.     I  found  out  when  I  was  told. 

HELOISE.     Who  told  you? 


ACT  III    The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  103 

ACRINUS  (quickly').  That  is  beside  the  point.  The 
sin  is  the  same  whether  anyone  told  him  or  not. 

HELOISE.     Who  told  him? 

GARTHELAUD  (sulkily  to  Acrinus).  Why  should  I 
take  all  the  blame?  You  told  me. 

HELOISE.     The  Bishop ! 

ACRINUS.  This  discussion  breeds  mutiny  in  the 
Church.  I  protest  that  you,  Abbess,  are  guilty  of  mis 
conduct. 

HELOISE.  How  did  you  know  that  he  was  within  the 
degree  ? 

ACRINUS.     I  decline  to  answer. 

MARTHE  (suddenly).     You  baptized  the  child! 

HELOISE  (shocked).  And  afterward  married  the  god 
father  to  the  mother! 

ACRINUS.  You  incite  against  the  laws  of  Holy 
Church.  I  tell  you,  Abbess,  you  are  much  condemned  to 
make  this  schism  and  sedition. 

HELOISE.  You  insisted  that  this  matter  be  public. 
Did  you  know  at  the  time  that  he  was  within  the  de 
gree? 

ACRINUS.     You  have  no  right  to  question  me. 

HELOISE.  I  have  the  right  to  question  this  man. 
Who  knew  that  you  had  stood  godfather? 

ACRINUS.  You  need  not  answer.  If  I  bid  you  keep 
silent. 

GARTHELAUD.  Why  should  I  keep  silent?  What  is 
it  after  all?  And  what  are  you  pushing  it  off  on  me  for? 
The  Baron  knew  it. 

HELOISE.     When  you  married  her? 

GARTHELAUD.     That  was  why  he  selected  me. 

HELOISE   (more  shocked).     Why  he  selected  you? 

GARTHELAUD.  In  case  she  had  no  children.  And  I 
shouldn't  be  killed  in  the  wars  like  her  other  husbands. 
So  that  the  marriage  might  be  annulled,  and  he  might 
marry  her  again. 

MARTHE.     Marry  me  qver  and  over  again  until  I  give 


104  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise    ACT  III 

him  children !  For  fighting  men !  I  have  no  rights  what 
ever. 

HELOISE  (seeking  to  quiet  her}.  The  land  must  pro 
duce  fighting  men.  What  would  become  of  the  land  if 
there  were  no  fighting  men?  (To  him.)  And  if  there 
were  no  children? 

GARTHELAUD.  I  was  to  go  elsewhere.  We  Garthe- 
lauds  are  famous  for  our  children. 

HELOISE.  But  if  he  knew  you  were  disqualified  and 
selected  you  for  that  reason,  someone  must  have  told 
him.  You  ? 

GARTHELAUD.  How  did  I  know  I  was  disqualified! 
(With  injured  innocence).  Do  you  think  I  would  have 
been  degraded  enough  to  marry  her  illegally? 

ACRINUS  (hotly).  Degraded!  How  dare  you  con 
demn  the  opinions  of  your  betters?  You'd  have  jumped 
at  any  property  the  Baron  offered. 

GARTHELAUD.  Oh,  I  would,  would  I?  Then  I  will 
hold  my  tongue  no  longer. 

ACRINUS.  I  command  you  in  the  name  of  Holy 
Church! 

GARTHELAUD  (hesitating).  Can  he  command  me  to 
be  silent? 

HELOISE.  Only  when  someone  lesser  is  speaking  to 
you.  I  command  you  to  speak,  in  the  name  of  Holy 
Church. 

GARTHELAUD   (vindictively).     He  told  the  Baron. 

HELOISE.     The  Bishop?     When? 

GARTHELAUD.  At  the  time.  That's  why  the  Baron 
picked  me  out  to  marry  her. 

ACRINUS  (to  Heloise).  You  have  created  a  public 
scandal  in  the  church.  Who  are  these  ignorant  people 
to  understand  the  workings  of  minds  higher  than  their 
own?  As  for  me,  I  have  a  clear  and  quiet  conscience. 
It  was  I  indeed  who  told  the  Baron  that  this  man 
could  not  marry  her  lawfully.  Yet  see  how  the  shame 
wherewith  you  sought  to  confound  me  recoils  upon  your 


ACT  III    The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  105 

own  head.  He  was  about  to  marry  her  to  an  Albigensian 
heretic.  And  for  the  same  reason — that  the  Church 
might  annul  the  union  if  it  bore  no  fruit.  Would  you 
have  approved  this  marriage,  Abbess? 

HELOISE  (with  honesty^.    No. 

ACRINUS.  When  I  threatened  him  with  Holy  Church, 
he  laughed  aloud.  "What  care  I  for  your  priestly  mum 
meries,  I  must  man  my  lands.  She  or  the  land,  I  care 
not  which,  must  yield  me  fighting  men."  Seeing  she 
must  marry  without  the  pale  of  the  Church,  would  I 
or  no,  I  thought  a  good  Christian  better  than  a  heretic. 
Especially  as  none  knew  that  he  had  been  her  child's 
godfather.  Do  you  challenge  my  decision,  Reverend 
Abbess? 

HELOISE.  I  crave  pardon,  Reverend  Bishop.  It  was 
forced  upon  you  by  hard  necessity. 

GARTHELAUD.  But  why  try  to  put  it  off  on  me?  As 
if  I  asked  to  have  my  marriage  annulled?  Leap  from 
the  frying  pan  into  the  fire!  What  do  I  know  of  this 
property  I  am  to  marry?  I  mightn't  like  the  hunting. 

MARTHE.  Property!  We  women  are  only  transmit 
ters  of  property!  I  may  live  in  mortal  sin  so  long  as  I 
transmit  my  property.  And  unless  I  do  so,  I  am  to  be 
cast  away.  Any  man,  any  man  I  must  submit  to,  so 
long  as  he  is  father  of  my  child.  What  do  I  know  about 
him?  Nothing,  it  does  not  matter.  Bring  us  a  child  by 
him.  The  first  man  that  was  allotted  to  me  squandered 
my  land.  It  did  not  matter,  he  might  be  father  of  my 
child.  The  second  and  third  were  filthy  swine,  it  did  not 
matter,  they  might  be  father  of  fighting  men.  Thank 
God  for  these  fine  wars  of  theirs  that  killed  them  off 
before  they  beggared  me  or  made  my  life  a  hell.  And 
then  my  last  husband !  My  only  peace  is  when  he  is  off 
fighting.  He  locks  me  in  my  tower,  starves  me,  beats 
me — — 

GARTHELAUD.  Well,  I  like  that!  You're  my  wife, 
aren't  you?  Did  I  ever  beat  you  unlawfully?  Did  I 


106          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  III 

ever  break  a  bone  or  put  out  an  eye?  If  the  law  didn't 
allow  husbands  to  beat  wives  in  reason,  a  pretty  life  we 
should  lead  with  you. 

MARTHE    (hysterically).      Transmitters   of  property! 

HELOISE  (soothing  her).  My  dear,  my  dear!  Prop 
erty  must  be  transmitted.  Otherwise  the  state  is  in 
chaos.  It  is  no  good  to  quarrel  with  the  inevitable  or 
der  of  things.  The  question  is  what  are  you  going 
to  do  about  it?  Your  marriage  stands  annulled.  Since 
you  married  without  its  pale,  the  Church  cannot  in 
tervene  to  protect  you.  Are  you  willing  to  marry  again 
a  man  of  the  Baron's  choosing? 

MARTHE  (wildly).  No,  I  have  had  enough  of  mar 
riage. 

HEI/OISE.  To  resign  your  dower,  then,  to  an  inmate 
of  your  household? 

MARTHE  (more  wildly).  Why  must  I  give  up  my 
land?  My  home?  My  all? 

HELOISE.  You  cannot  help  yourself.  It  is  not  legal, 
but  if  you  refuse  to  marry,  the  king  will  bear  the  Baron 
out.  It  is  not  legal,  but  you  could  not  look  to  the 
Church  for  support.  You  must  at  any  rate  give  up  your 
present  husband. 

MARTHE.  What  do  I  care  for  him !  Let  him  go  to 
his  hump-backed  widow.  I  want  to  be  let  alone. 

HELOISE.  You  cannot  be  let  alone  if  you  keep  your 
land.  If  you  want  to  be  let  alone,  why  not  delegate 
your  dower  to  a  woman  of  your  household ! 

MARTHE  (vindictively).     What  woman  I  choose? 

GARTHELAUD.     Does  it  say  that? 

HELOISE  (handing  him  the  document  contemptuously). 
Read. 

GARTHELAUD.  I  am  a  fighting  man.  Not  a  woman 
or  a  priest.  Do  you  want  me  to  unsex  myself?  (To 
Acrinus.)  Does  it  say  that? 

ACRINUS.     She  may  designate  the  woman. 

^ART/HE.     Let  me  think,  let  me  think!     (The  young 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  107 

ladies  surge  forward  eagerly,  all  save  Emelie.)  You 
drive  me  mad  among  you.  What  chance  has  a  woman 
with  your  church  and  king  against  her?  A  woman  of 
gentle  soul  who  asks  but  to  be  let  alone.  (To  Garthe- 
laud.)  If  I  could  find  some  woman  who  would  make 
your  life  a  hell!  (Suddenly.)  Emelie !  I  choose  you 
to  be  this  man's  wife. 

EMELIE.  Me!  (The  young  ladies  look  at  her  with 
indignation  and  contempt.) 

NURSE.     Such  luck! 

GARTHELAUD  (laughing).  What  hair  the  minx 
has! 

ACRINUS  (quickly).  Emelie  is  rebellious  and  froward. 
She  will  mismanage  your  estates. 

MARTHE.  She  will  make  his  life  a  hell.  I  choose 
Emelie. 

EMELIE.  Thank  you  for  nothing.  I  refuse  to  marry 
your  lout  of  a  husband. 

NURSE.     Are  you  mad? 

(The  young  ladies,  Garthelaud,  the  Bishop,  each 
show  amazement  accompanied  by  other  emotions.  He- 
loise  and  Liane  are  delighted  at  the  decision). 

MARTHE  (indignantly).  Are  you  too  good  to  be 
beaten  ? 

EMELIE.     Not  because  he  beats  you. 

NURSE.     Why  shouldn't  a  man? 

EMELIE.  I  should  not  mind  being  beaten.  But  the 
man  who  beats  me  must  be  a  master  not  a  puppet.  A 
man  who  goes  where  he  will  to  marry,  not  where  he  is 
sent.  ( The  young  ladies  are  aghast  but  are  nevertheless 
delighted  that  Emelie  is  out  of  the  running.)  But  I've 
seen  enough  today  of  your  gentlemens'  marriages.  If 
I  marry,  I  shall  marry  because  I  want  to  and  not  to 
transmit  properly.  And  since  no  gentleman  marries 
for  any  other  reason  and  it  would  not  suit  me  to  marry 
a  peasant,  I  shall  not  marry  at  all.  I  refuse  your  gra 
cious  offer,  madame. 


108          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise    ACT  III 

MARTHE.  What  was  good  enough  for  me,  an  heiress, 
is  not  good  enough  for  a  pauper! 

GARTHELAUD.     Did  anybody  ever  hear  the  like! 

ACRINUS.  A  woman  rebelling  at  the  position  God  has 
called  her  to!  What  would  become  of  the  structure  of 
society ! 

EMELIE.  You,  Madame  de  la  Garthelaud,  who  choose 
me  to  make  her  husband's  life  a  hell;  you,  Sieur  de  la 
Garthelaud,  who  go  from  woman  to  woman  at  the  bid 
ding  of  your  master  like  a  prize  horse;  you  Bishop  of 
Holy  Church  and  God  knows  what,  who  find  your  silly 
eins  deadly  when  it  pleases  you  to  find  them  so !  You 
may  all  of  you  go  to  the  devil.  I  shall  not  sacrifice 
myself  to  the  structure  of  your  society  unless  I  see 
something  coming  out  of  the  sacrifice  for  me. 

ACRINUS  (sharply).  Abbess,  this  is  your  doing  al 
though  you  may  have  meant  it  not.  Speak  to  this  poor 
lost  child. 

HELOISE  (firmly).    I  approve  her  decision. 

ACRINUS  (aghast,  to  Liane).  Tell  her  what  she 
foregoes  if  she  refuses  to  marry. 

LIANE.  You  forego  four  walls  in  which  you  are  a 
prisoner  to  be  treated  as  your  jailer  pleases.  You  fore 
go  a  girdle,  which  is  already  unfashionable.  You  forego 
a  name,  which  you  may  buy  when  you  please  if  you 
have  ideas. 

ACRINUS  (much  shocked).  I  leave  you  all.  (To 
Marthe.)  I  am  sorry  for  you,  but  no  wonder  with  such 
impious  sisters  God  sent  you  no  children.  He  wisely 
means  the  race  to  die  out.  (He  goes.) 

BLANCHE  (running  and  throwing  herself  before 
Marthe).  Oh  Madame!  Marry  him  to  me!  And  save 
me  from  something  worse. 

GARTHELAUD.  What  do  you  mean,  something  worse? 
A  proper  spirit  for  a  woman  to  marry  in !  I  refuse  to 
take  her. 

MARTHE.     You  will  take  anybody  I  pick  out.     But  I 


ACT  III    The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise          109 

shall   not   marry   you   to   any   such    spiritless   creature. 

BLANCHE  (going  to  Heloise).  Madame  Abbess,  I 
give  myself  to  you. 

HELOISE  (gently  but  definitively).  I  am  sorry  but  I 
have  already  a  long  waiting  list. 

BLANCHE.  Madame  Sans-Ceintre,  take  me  to  Paris 
with  you. 

LIANE.  Child,  you  would  be  lost  in  Paris — you  have 
no  ideas. 

BLANCHE  (wildly).    And  I  must  marry 

MARTHE  (quickly  and  sternly).  You  must  marry  the 
man  your  father  has  selected. 

BLANCHE  (going).  My  heart  is  broken.  (She  goes 
out  Center.) 

MARTHE  (enumerating).  Rosalie,  Berenice,  Annette, 
Jeanne.  Not  one  of  the  simpering  creatures  could  make 
your  life  a  hell. 

YOUNG  LADIES  (variously).  Oh,  Madame,  we  would 
try! 

MARTHE.  Not  one  but  would  make  my  life  a  hell  if 
I  stayed  here. 

GARTHELAUD  (coolly).  It  is  not  purgatory  which  in 
terests  the  Baron  but  posterity.  Come,  I  am  willing 
to  do  my  duty  as  a  man.  One  wife  is  the  same  as  an 
other  to  me. 

MARTHE  (despairingly).  Must  I  choose?  Must  it 
always  be  self-sacrifice  for  a  woman?  Must  I  choose 
between  a  home  in  which  I  am  no  longer  mistress  or  a 
convent  where  I  have  no  home  at  all? 

GARTHELAUD.  You  are  better  off  than  I  am.  I  have 
no  choice. 

MARTHE  (going  on).  Have  I  no  rights?  Must  I 
choose? 

HELOISE  (suddenly).  No!  You  can  circumvent  the 
Baron. 

MARTHE  AND  LIANE.     How? 

HELOISE.     Make  your  home  a  convent.     Give  your 


110  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise    ACT  III 

lands  and  tenants  to  the  Church  and  remain  mistress  of 
all.  The  Baron  will  be  powerless  to  touch  you. 

MARTHE.     I  can? 

LIANE  (laughing  heartily').  Did  I  not  say  a  clever 
woman  accepts  things  as  they  are  and  has  her  own 
way,  too? 

MARTHE  (to  Garthelaud).  I  hereby  give  myself  and 
my  estates  and  all  upon  them  to  Holy  Church  and  claim 
her  protection.  I  regret  that  when  I  am  abbess  I 
cannot  in  some  way  make  your  life  a  hell.  But  let  us 
hope  the  hump-backed  widow  can.  Meanwhile,  sir,  you 
are  no  longer  my  husband.  Good  afternoon ! 

GARTHELAUD  (speechless  with  anger,  to  the  young 
gentleman}.  Come!  (At  the  gate.)  Now  that  she  has 
become  a  nun,  Madame  Abbess,  I  suppose  she  will  have 
more  children  than  is  convenient.  (He  goes  and  with 
him  the  young  men.) 

MARTHE.  Young  ladies,  this  place  has  become  a  nun 
nery.  Do  you  wish  to  remain  here? 

YOUNG  LADIES.     Oh  no,  Madame. 

MARTHE.  Then  return  to  your  fathers  at  once.  At 
once,  do  you  hear?  (The  young  ladies  exist  hastily.) 

HELOISE.     Emelie,  I  want  such  girls  as  you. 

EMELIE  (angrily).     Why  do  you  make  a  jest  of  me? 

HELOISE.  It  is  no  jest.  With  liberty  of  self-devel 
opment  you  may  go  far. 

EMELIE.     As  far  as  abbess? 

HELOISE.  The  election  of  abbess  falls  to  the  ablest 
of  the  nuns,  but  rarely  to  one  who  has  no  property. 

EMELIE.     You  had  no  property.     Why  then? 

HELOISE.     Why  do  you  ask,  my  child? 

EMELIE.     To  make  up  my  mind. 

HELOISE  (slowly).     I  had  the  influence  of  the  Count. 

EMELIE.     Why,  if  you  had  no  property? 

MARTHE.     You  are  impertinent. 

HELOISE.     No.     I  got  it  because — of  my  sister  Liane. 

EMELIE.     How  did  she  get  it? 


ACT  III    The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  111 

HELOISE.     She  is —     (She  pauses.} 

LIANE.     His  mistress. 

EMELIE.     Then  I  also  will  be  somebody's  mistress. 

MARTHE.  Emelie!  Sooner  abbess  of  my  nunnery 
than  that! 

EMELIE.  Stuff!  Everybody  has  a  lover  and  nobody 
cares.  What  then  is  the  difference  between  Madame 
and  you?  Only  that  her  lover  supports  her.  It  is 
property  that  makes  you  object  to  her  kind  of  mistress. 
She  sells  in  a  good  market  what  you  buy  in  a  poor  one, 
and  naturally  it  annoys.  But  why  pretend  it  is  some 
thing  else?  The  pot  is  imprudent  to  abuse  the  kettle. 
Suppose  some  day  she  objects  to  your  kind  of  mistress? 
Because  by  giving  away  what  she  is  forced  to  sell,  you 
destroy  her  market. 

LIANE.     My  god! 

EMELIE.  Then  it  will  be  war  to  the  death  between 
you — because  of  property.  In  the  end  you  will  win 
out  because  your  children  have  the  name.  But,  to  save 
your  face,  you  will  have  to  give  up  your  lovers  and 
pretend  you  never  thought  of  such  a  thing. 

HELOISE.     She  is  inspired! 

EMELIE.  Meanwhile,  I  have  no  property  and  I  must 
therefore  go  somewhere.  Because  Madame  is  mistress, 
Madame  is  abbess.  Very  well  then,  I  will  go  at  once 
to  headquarters. 

MARTHE.  But — but  surely  it  must  be  wrong  to  make 
love  a  commercial  matter!  That  is  why  marriage  and 
love  cannot  exist  together. 

EMELIE.  Everything  is  a  commercial  matter.  Why 
shouldn't  love  be  like  everything  else?  The  trouble 
with  your  marriage  is  that  there  is  no  love  to  begin 
with.  It's  a  good  thing  for  women  that  love  can  be  a 
commercial  matter  or  women  like  me  would  have  no 
means  of  support.  But  it's  a  good  thing  for  men  also. 

HELOISE  (much  struck  with  her  reasoning).  How  do 
you  reason  it? 


112  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise    ACT  III 

EMELIE.  If  there  is  ever  love  in  marriage,  who  has 
it?  The  man  or  the  woman?  The  woman.  That  is 
because  the  man  is  living  off  her  property.  People 
learn  to  like  what  they  have  to  pay  for.  If  men  support 
the  women  in  marriage,  perhaps  they  may  love  them 
too  some  day.  "Where  the  treasure  is  the  heart  is 
also/'  they  say  in  church.  What  do  they  say  it  for? 
They  say  it  to  make  you  want  to  go  to  heaven. 

HELOISE  (shocked).  It  is  bad  taste  to  quote  the 
Scriptures  when  you  are  talking  logic.  The  Scriptures 
are  not  logical  but  inspirational. 

EMELIE  (gasping).  I'm  stifling  in  this  thing!  I  shall 
take  it  off! 

MARTHE  (tearfully).     Take  it  off? 

LIANE  (vigorously).  Then  no  man  will  want  you 
at  all. 

EMELIB.     Surely  I'm  more  attractive  without  it. 

LIANE.  My  God,  don't  I  know  it?  Don't  ask  me 
why  a  man  who  wants  us  attractive,  wants  us  also  to 
look  like  a  piece  of  macaroni!  The  sensible  woman 
does  what  men  desire,  and  they  desire  us  fragile.  God 
knows  why  they  are  such  fools. 

HELOISE.  Women  have  been  made  weak  so  that  men 
might  appear  strong.  They  must  seem  incapable  of 
useful  effort.  Especially  when  supporting  the  men. 

EMELIE  (gasping  with  physical  pain,  all  the  more  as 
she  is  beginning  to  expand  with  an  idea).  But,  but — 
aren't  your  gentlemen  like  our  peasants?  Don't  they 
want  to  see  we  have  breasts  and  hips? 

LIANE.  Yes.  But  chiefly  they  want  to  see  we  can't 
stand  up  alone.  The  appeal  to  their  egotism  is  greater 
than  the  appeal  to  their  appetite. 

EMELIE  (suddenly  blurting  out).  But  can't  they  have 
both? 

LIANE.     Ah,  both !     But  both  are  impossible. 

EMELIE.  Air !  Air !  (Liane  and  Heloise  run  to  herf 
and  in  their  arms  she  sinks  to  the  ground.) 


ACT  III     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise          113 

NURSE  (coming  in  with  Emelie's  new  long  green 
shoes).  God  never  meant  such  things!  (She  sees 
Emelie  and  runs  to  her.)  My  lamb!  Idiot,  I  told  you 
I  mustn't  strap  them  as  tight  as  I  could !  My  lamb ! 
(She  hauls  away  the  stays,  which  Liane  has  been  loosen 
ing  as  the  women  surround  Emelie,  and  holds  them  up.) 
Bah!  (Holding  up  the  shoes.)  Bah!  How  can  she 
ever  walk  in  them!  And  with  that  steeple  on! 

MARTHE  (feebly).     She  must  walk  in  two  sections. 

EMELIE  (getting  to  her  feet,  and  in  a  firm  weak 
voice) .  Give  me  that  thing !  And  those  shoes  ! 

NURSE.     How  can  she  ever  walk  in  them,  I  say ! 

MARTHE   (terrified  at  her  bluster).     In  two  sections. 

EMELIE  (suddenly  grasping  her  idea).  Two  sections! 
(Taking  a  long  gulp  of  air.)  The  gentleman  demands 
that  the  lady  be  weak,  the  waist  small? 

LIANE  (electrified,  seeing  that  she  is  getting  at  an 
idea).  Yes,  yes. 

EMELIE.  Then  we  must  be  and  not  be  at  the  same 
time! 

LIANE  AND  HELOISE.     But  how? 

EMELIE.  The  larger  you  are  at  both  ends  the  smaller 
you  are  in  the  middle.  (She  runs  and  gets  her  wimple 
from  behind  the  ledge,  thrusts  an  end  into  the  Nurse's 
hands.)  Hold  it!  (Holding  the  other  end  upon  her 
waist,  she  whirls  herself  up  in  it,  binding  it  tightly  like 
a  bandage.)  There! 

LIANE  (disappointed).     But  that  is  nothing. 

EMILY.  That  is  only  one  section.  The  other,  how 
shall  I  show  you?  (Pointing  to  the  trees.)  Why  should 
we  be  like  that?  Why  not  like  that? 

LIANE  (grasping  the  idea).     My  God! 

EMELIE.  I  see  it,  I  see  it!  How  shall  I  show  you? 
Oh !  (She  runs  to  the  parrot  cage,  unbuttons  the  wicker 
top  from  its  floor,  leaving  the  parrot  sitting  within  on 
his  cross-piece.  She  carries  the  wicker  cage  to  the  center 
and  pops  it  over  her  head.  The  hole  fits  around  her 


114          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise    ACT  III 

hips.  Snatching  off  her  purple  veil,  she  drapes  it  on  the 
wicker  frame.)  Behold!  (Liane  and  Marthe  and 
Heloise  snatch  off  their  wimples  and  drape  them  also, 
and  the  nurse  claps  on  her  hood.  Emelie  stands  in  the 
midst  triumphant,  both  her  arms  stretched  out.) 

MARTHE   (tearfully).     But  you  can't  sit  down  in  it. 

LIANE  (triumphantly).  They  will  know  we  can't 
work  then. 

HELOISE  (with  a  touch  of  solemnity).  She  has  done 
what  women  have  done  with  the  convent.  What  women 
have  always  done.  Made  the  best  of  what  they  couldn't 
help. 

LIANE  (in  ecstasy).  And  it  will  waste  more  goods! 
My  God,  it  is  the  idea  of  ideas ! 

CURTAIN 


ACT  IV 
THE  HALF  AND  HALF  BUSINESS 

New  York.  The  drawing  room  of  Emmeline's  apart 
ment.  The  first  floor  of  a  converted  residence  on  one  of 
the  lower  numbered  streets  off  Fifth  Avenue.  Here 
several  commodious  rooms  arranged  as  a  house-keeping 
suite  may  still  be  had  for  a  moderate  rental,  if  one  fore 
goes  a  few  conveniences  and  trimmings  of  the  modern 
apartment  house.  The  furnishings  of  this  high-ceil- 
inged  wainscoted  room,  cheerful  in  spite  of  its  white 
marble  mantel  and  grate  and  its  old-time  aristocratic 
stolidity,  are  noticeably  simple  but  have  an  elegance 
which  accords  with  its  still  unmodified  architecture. 
One  sees  that  the  present  tenant  has  fastidious  taste  and 
practical  intelligence,  and  is  accustomed  to  manage  a 
moderate  income  in  a  way  to  derive  the  most  of  esthetic 
enjoyment  from  it.  Only  the  profusion  of  flowers, 
scattered  in  vases  everywhere,  betokens  extravagance. 
One  wonders,  perhaps,  how  a  person  who  could  spend 
patient  years  in  assembling  five  pieces  of  such  harmoni 
ous  furniture,  can  endure  so  indiscriminate  and  crowded 
a  horticultural  exhibit;  and  hopes  it  may  be  but  the 
spoils  of  some  recent  festival. 

An  electric  bell  is  heard.  It  rings  again  before  the 
door  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room  opens  in  response. 
A  young  man  in  overalls  enters.  His  good-looking  face 
has  an  expression  of  almost  childlike  sweetness  and 
simplicity  of  nature  with  indications  of  a  childlike  petu 
lance  and  stubbornness.  A  woman  would  recognise  ab 

115 


116  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

once  that  he  is  eminently  a  man  who  repays  manage 
ment.  He  brushes  off  his  overalls  impatiently  and  shows 
reluctance  to  attend  the  door,  but  in  a  moment  as  the 
bell  rings  again  decides  to  do  so.  He  opens  with  some 
embarrassment  to  a  modish  and  attractive  young  woman. 
She  carries  gorgeous  furs  from  which  hang  many  bushy 
tails  and  legs  with  claws,  and  even  mounted  heads.  She 
is  handsome  and  hard-lipped,  and  Wears  with  complete 
sophistication  a  gay  mercenary  manner.  She  regards 
him  with  surprise,  especially  as  his  embarrassment 
increases. 

MRS.  BOYER.  Oh !  Please  tell  Miss  Archer  that  Mrs. 
Boyer  is  here. 

GARETH  (awkwardly  but  with  a  geniality  which  he 
brings  to  his  rescue).  They're  out.  I  was  here  work 
ing,  and  so  the  girl  asked  me — 

MRS.  BOYER.     Didn't  Miss  Archer  leave  word? 

GARETH.     Maybe  with  the  girl.     But — 

MRS.  BOYER  (coming  in).    She  expects  me.     I'll  wait. 

GARETH  (after  a  dubious  moment).  All  right.  (He 
goes  to  inner  door  but  pauses  there  with  indecision.) 

MRS.  BOYER  (divining  the  cause  of  his  hesitation  and 
smiling  at  him  brightly).  Well? 

GARETH.     I — the  girl  is  out,  and — 

MRS.  BOYER.     I  won't  steal  anything. 

GARETH  (again  helping  out  his  embarrassment  with  a 
winning  grin).  If  the  place  was  mine,  I'd  take  a 
chance. 

MRS.  BOYER  (amused  and  interested) .  The  maid  took 
a  chance  on  you. 

GARETH.     But  she  knows  me. 

MRS.  BOYER  (willing  to  prolong  the  conversation). 
You've  worked  here  before,  I  suppose?  Or  do  you 
mean  she  knows  you  personally? 

GARETH  (quickly,  his  tone  indicating  some  resentment 
to  the  situation).  No,  I — I've  worked  here  before. 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  117 

MRS.  BOYER.  At  any  rate,  you  have  the  table  silver. 
Nothing  to  steal  here  but  flowers.  And  I'd  need  a  cart 
for  them.  (She  pauses  before  a  large  ornamented  pot 
of  trellised  roses  standing  in  front  of  the  grate,  tied  with 
a  very  expensive  and  unbecoming  sash  ribbon.) 

GARETH.     Pretty  swell,  aren't  they? 

MRS.  BOYER.  Beautiful.  A  bit  impressive,  for  the 
room. 

GARETH  (disappointed).     You  don't  like  it? 

MRS.  BOYER.     Yes.     At  the  proper  distance. 

GARETH  (cheerfully).  Makes  the  others  look  like 
thirty  cents,  don't  it? 

MRS.  BOYER  (coming  to  table  and  uncovering  a  five- 
pound  box  of  candy,  taking  a  piece).  Here's  something 
to  steal. 

GARETH  (his  tone  showing  some  waspishness).  Help 
yourself!  If  you  smoke,  here's  a  box  of  one  hundred 
cigarettes!  Something  classy.  Everyone  of  them 
marked.  Metropolitan  Club. 

MRS.  BOYER  (coolly  but  inoffensively).  You  seem  to 
have  worked  here  pretty  often. 

GARETH.  Look  here.  She's  not  hiring  me.  Miss 
Archer's  a  friend  of  mine,  and  now  and  then  I  do  things 
for  her. 

MRS.  BOYER  (flashing  a  radiant  smile).  Of  course  I 
saw  at  once  you  weren't  just  a  workman,  Mr. ? 

GARETH  (much  pleased).  Garrity.  (Quickly.) 
Gareth  Garrity. 

MRS.  BOYER.     Gareth?     What  an  odd  pretty  name. 

GARETH  (half  proudly ,  half  apologetically).  My 
mother  got  it  out  of  some  poetry.  Count  Tennyson's. 

MRS.  BOYER.  Yes.  What  sort  of  work  are  you 
doing  ? 

GARETH.  Arranging  the  electric  lights  in  the  dining 
room.  She  wants  things  to  look  fine  tomorrow  night.  A 
special  dinner. 

MRS.  BOYER  (nodding).     I'm  coming. 


118  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

GARETH.     What  sort  of  books  do  you  write? 

MRS.  BOYER.     I? 

GARETH.     Nobody's  invited  but  authors. 

MRS.  BOYER  (cattily).  I  see.  Well,  she's  made  one 
exception  in  my  case.  I  sometimes  publish  literature 
but  I'm  rather  careful  not  to  write  it. 

GARETH.  Yet  I've  run  across  your  name  somewhere. 
Picture  too. 

MRS.  BOYER  (smiling  engagingly).  Guess.  Mrs. 
Boyer.  Hilda  Boyer. 

GARETH.  The  breach  of  promise  case  with  the 
octopus ! 

MRS.  BOYER.  Octogenarian.  I  see  you  read  the 
Daily  Sphere. 

GARETH  (gallantly,  his  tone  becoming  more  intimate). 
An  old  man  with  his  money  ought  to  pay.  What  else 
would  be  in  it —  (He  hesitates  and  grins  delightfully.) 
For  a  peach  like  you. 

MRS.  BOYER  (laughing).     So  I  think. 

GARETH  (regretfully).  Well,  you'll  excuse  me?  Em- 
meline — Miss  Archer  made  me  swear  on  a  stack  of 
bibles  I'd  be  through  before  four  o'clock. 

MRS.  BOYER  (significantly).  Yes,  I  was  due  then. 
Our  committee  meeting.  We  had  to  swear  on  a  stack  of 
bibles  to  be  through  at  five.  Careful  about  her  dates. 

GARETH  (quickly).  She  has  to  be,  a  busy  woman 
like  her.  I  don't  see  how  she  finds  time  to  write  so 
many  books.  Great,  aren't  they? 

MRS.  BOYER  (with  alluring  candor).  Mr.  Garrity, 
how  splendid  it  must  be  to  have  a  loyal  and  admiring 
friend  like  you!  And  how  nice  of  you  to  help  her  out 
in  so  many  ways !  A  self-supporting  woman  needs  a 
man  to  depend  upon. 

GARETH.  What  can  I  do  for  her?  Not  a  marker  to 
what  she  does  for  me. 

MRS.  BOYER  (confidentially).  What  does  she  do  for 
you? 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  119 

GARETH.  Lets  me  know  her,  isn't  that  enough? 
She —  (Checking  his  enthusiasm.)  I  guess  I  must  go 
to  work.  (He  goes  abruptly.) 

(Mrs.  Boyer  looks  after  him  with  some  amusement 
and  envy.  She  goes  at  once  to  the  pot  of  roses,  and 
takes  up  the  envelope  which  is  attached  to  them.  Glanc 
ing  at  the  door,  she  takes  out  the  card  quickly.) 

MRS.  BOYER.  "Queen  Rose  of  the  Rosebud  Garden 
of  Girls — Gareth."  Reading  Tennyson  with  him — to 
educate  him  I  suppose.  (She  goes  and  takes  another 
piece  of  candy,  and  calls  gaily.)  Mr.  Gareth — I  mean 
Mr.  Garrity,  I'm  stealing  again.  Don't  you  want  to 
come  watch  me?  (He  comes  to  the  door;  she  hands  him 
a  piece.) 

GARETH  (more  emphatically  than  the  case  seems  to 
demand).  No,  thank  you. 

MRS.  BOYER.     Please  be  a  thief  with  me. 

GARETH.     Never  eat  it. 

MRS.  BOYER.  That's  just  like  a  man.  A  real  man, 
I  mean. 

GARETH.     What  ? 

MRS.  BOYER.  You're  too  proud.  Because  some  other 
man  gave  it  to  Emmeline.  Fine  but  foolish.  Besides, 
don't  you  see  that  turn-about  is  fair  play? 

GARETH.     What  do  you  mean? 

MRS.  BOYER.  Those  lights  for  Emmeline's  dinner. 
They  would  have  cost — let  me  see — fifteen  dollars? 

GARETH.  Twenty-five  anywhere,  not  counting  my 
idea.  Got  the  stuff  wholesale,  too. 

MRS.  BOYER.  Lucky  Emmeline !  Well,  he'll  be  there, 
author  or  no  author.  Why  shouldn't  you  enjoy  his 
candy  then?  Especially  when  I  beg  you  to.  Now  can 
you  refuse? 

GARETH   (grinning  at  her).     Yes. 

MRS.  BOYER.  That's  really  morbid  of  you. 
Please ! 

GARETH  (relenting}.     No.     (He  laughs  as  she  puts 


120  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  TV 

a  chocolate  into  his  mouth.)  What  do  you  mean,  author 
or  no  author? 

MRS.  BOYER.  You  don't  think  Emmeline  is  wasting  a 
special  dinner  on  authors,  do  you?  Unless  they're  very 
successful  ones.  People  one  invites  to  special  dinners 
give  dinners  or  something  else  in  return.  Else  they're 
not  worth  wasting  time  on. 

GARETH  (hotly).  She  wastes  time  on  me.  What  can 
I  give  her? 

MRS.  BOYER.  Jobs  every  now  and  then  that  she 
wants  done.  And  a  lot  of  other  services,  I  guess,  if  the 
truth  were  known.  (Soothing  him  down.)  Besides, 
you're  the  sort  of  man  no  woman  would  call  a  waste  of 
time. 

GARETH   (pleased  but  suspicious).     Why? 

MRS.  BOYER  (alluringly).     How  stupid  men  are! 

GARETH.     Say,  will  you  do  something  for  me? 

MRS.  BOYER   (gaily).     Yes. 

GARETH.  Tell  me  which  you  like  best.  (He  brings 
out  a  packet  of  half  a  dozen  neckties,  folded  without 
being  wrapped,  all  solid  colors  and  very  sober.  He 
throws  them  over  his  arm.) 

MRS.  BOYER.  For  you?  I  should  have  thought  you'd 
like  a  pattern  or  a  stripe. 

GARETH  (with  suspicious  emphasis).  Not  on  your 
life!  They're  loud  or  sissy. 

MRS.  BOYER.  But  perhaps  my  taste  wouldn't  agree 
— with  Emmeline's. 

GARETH  (bashfully  but  pleased).     Oh  go  on. 

MRS.  BOYER.  I  like  this  dark  one.  (Holding  it  up 
under  his  chin.)  Yes,  it's  quiet  and  manly.  Just  suits 
you.  Bright  colors  cheapen  a  manly  man. 

GARETH  (a  little  flustered  at  her  flattery  and  her 
nearness).  Just  what  she  says.  (The  bell  rings,  he 
stuffs  the  ties  in  his  pocket.) 

MRS.  BOYER.     There's  Emmeline. 

GARETH.     She  has  her  key. 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  121 

MRS.  BOYER  (seeing  his  hesitation}.     Shall  I  go? 

GARETH.  That's  all  right.  (He  opens  the  door  as 
she  follows.) 

EDMUND  (at  doort  in  a  tone  of  surprise).  Miss  Ar 
cher  at  home? 

GARETH.     No,  Miss 

MRS.  BOYER  (interrupting).  Mr.  Atkinson!  How 
do  you  do? 

(Edmund  enters.  He  is  an  alert  trim  young  man 
with  perpetually  sparkling  eyes.  He  wears  an  Oxford 
cutaway  and  dark  gray  trousers,  giving  the  effect  of  a 
subdued  dandy.  He  takes  her  proffered  hand.) 

MRS.  BOYER  (after  a  perceptible  second  of  hesita 
tion).  Mr.  Garrity,  Mr.  Atkinson. 

EDMUND  (shaking  hands  with  Gareth,  who  has  nodded 
stiffly).  How  do  you?  Which  one's  answering  the  bell 
today  ? 

MRS.  BOYER.  Both.  Emmeline —  (The  telephone 
bell  rings.)  Maybe  that's  she  now.  (She  moves  toward 
the  phone.) 

GARETH  (who  has  the  start  of  her).  I'll  answer  it. 
(Explaining  awkwardly  as  he  takes  the  receiver.)  You 
see,  she  expects  only  the  girl  or  me  to  be  here.  Hello. 
Yes  it's  me.  Annie  had  to  go  out.  I  know,  but  I 
couldn't  get  through  in  time.  Now,  Em — Miss  Archer 
— what  could  I  do?  (Awkwardly  but  with  relief  at 
having  discovered  some  way  to  say  he  is  not  alone.) 
She's  right  here,  want  to  speak  to  her?  Yes,  I'll  tell 
her.  Goodbye.  (He  hangs  up  the  receiver.  In  speak 
ing,  his  voice  had  at  once  assumed  a  caressing  quality 
but  also  the  tone  of  one  habitually  conciliatory.  Both 
Mrs.  Boyer  and  Atkinson  have  noticed  this  at  once,  and 
both  show  great  interest.  Especially  Atkinson,  who  has 
taken  a  step  forward.  Gareth  goes  on  to  Mrs.  Boyer.) 
Miss  Archer  says  to  tell  you  she's  awfully  sorry  but  she 
didn't  have  a  moment.  She  phoned  to  say  she  had  been 
unavoidably  detained  and  would  be  here  at  four-thirty. 


122  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

Would  you  please  wait?  Or  if  you  could  use  the  half 
hour  in  this  part  of  town,  couldn't  you  go  out  and  come 
back? 

MRS.  BOYER  (laughingly,  comprehending  that  Emme- 
line  wants  her  to  go).  I'll  wait. 

GARETH.     Then  excuse  me.     (He  goes.) 

EDMUND  (eagerly).     Who  is  he? 

MRS.  BOYER.  Apparently,  a  friend  of  Miss  Archer's. 
Doing  some  work  for  her. 

EDMUND.     I  was  coming  to  see  you  later. 

MRS.  BOYER.  What  is  your  esteemed  proprietor's 
proposition  ? 

EDMUND  (hesitating).  I'm  to  sound  you  tactfully  to 
see  whether — you  would  consent  to  publishing  some  of 
the  letters  you'll  use  as  evidence  in  your  case. 

MRS.  BOYER  (laughing).  Indeed?  How  much  is  he 
offering  ? 

EDMUND.  He  wants  to  make  a  campaign  of  it.  If 
he  can  get  five  letters  worth  the  money,  he'll  publish 
one  a  day. 

MRS.  BOYER.     How  much  money? 

EDMUND.  Two  thousand.  See  here,  don't  blame  me. 
It's  rotten. 

MRS.  BOYER  (laughing).  Business  is  business.  Tell 
him  I'll  split  the  difference.  And  this  is  my  last  offer. 
Twenty-five  hundred. 

EDMUND.  The  proposition  came  from  you?  (Laugh 
ing  curtly.)  I  see  I've  done  him  an  injustice.  Both 
morally  and  commercially. 

MRS.  BOYER.  Don't  be  silly.  Is  a  man  to  take  a 
year  of  a  woman's  youth,  good  looks,  and  freshness — 
all  perishable  products — and  get  out  of  it  for 
nothing? 

EDMUND.     That's  for  the  jury  to  say. 

MRS.  BOYER.  Suppose  it's  made  up  of  twelve  sex- 
protecting  men  like  yourself?  Then  I've  thrown  good 
money  after  bad. 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  123 

EDMUND.  And  for  a  paltry  twenty-five  hundred 
you'll  accept  the  condemnation  of  most — 

MRS.  BOYER.  Most  men.  Who  fear  their  own  letters 
might  come  home  to  roost. 

EDMUND.     And  women,  too. 

MRS.  BOYER.  Some  of  them  will  say  so  to  you.  For 
their  own  reasons.  But  in  their  hearts  they  will  agree 
with  the  majority  of  women.  That  you  men  play  so 
rotten  a  game  that  we  have  a  right  to  get  out  of  it  what 
we  can.  Precious  little  I  can  tell  you. 

EDMUND.  Then  you're  going  to  make  men  fight  shy 
of  you  all  your  life.  For  a  paltry  twenty-five  hundred? 

MRS.  BOYER.  Not  at  all,  Don  Quixote.  If  that  cam 
paign  is  handled  right — and  I  propose  to  see  that  it  is 
— by  the  time  the  third  letter  is  printed,  he  will  offer 
to  settle  out  of  court. 

EDMUND  (laughing  curtly}.  I've  done  you  a  com 
mercial  injustice. 

MRS.  BOYER  (with  equal  good  humor).  Of  course  if 
you  tell  this  to  your  esteemed  chief,  don't  neglect  to 
point  out  that  the  letters  will  be  quite  worth  his  while 
at  that. 

EDMUND.     I'll  tell  him  when  I  take  your  answer. 

MRS.  BOYER  (going  toward  phone}.  I  might  as  well 
do  it  here. 

EDMUND   (involuntarily}.     I'd  rather  you  wouldn't. 

MRS*  BOYER  (pretending  not  to  see  his  meaning). 
You  want  me  to  go  out?  In  case  Emmeline  should 
come  in. 

EDMUND.     Well,  yes.     That's  another  reason. 

MRS.  BOYER.  All  right,  I'll  go.  (At  door.)  Emme 
line,  I  see,  is  rather  careful  about  her  dates,  even  if 
she  does  slip  up  once  in  a  while.  I  ought  to  warn  you 
that  he  had  orders  to  quit  at  four,  and  our  committee 
meeting  at  five.  I  don't  know  where  you  come  in. 
(She  goes.) 

EDMUND    (after  a  moment   of  appreciation  of  Mrs* 


124          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

Boyer's  cattiness  Edmund  looks  around  at  the  flowers, 
picks  out  a  modest  vase  which  one  supposes  are  his. 
Good-humor  edly) .  Also  ran.  (Going  to  the  pot  of 
trellised  roses.)  Hm!  The  usual  expensive  horror! 
(Seeing  the  envelope,  he  takes  it  up,  puts  it  down  again; 
goes  and  lifts  the  telephone,  puts  it  down  again,  and 
goes  to  door  of  room  and  calls.)  Mr.  Garrity!  (Gareth 
comes  to  door.)  Got  a  minute? 

GARETH  (curtly).     No,  but  I'll  take  one. 

EDMUND   (holding  out  his  case).     Have  a  cigarette? 

GARETH  (taking  it  after  hesitating).  Not  Metropoli 
tan  Club! 

EDMUND  (puzzled,  then  comprehending  with  a  laugh). 
Just  a  modest  wage-earner  like  yourself.  Light?  (At 
a  loss  how  to  begin.)  See  here,  Mr.  Garrity,  if  I  give 
you  my  confidence,  will  you  give  me  yours? 

GARETH  (on  the  defensive).  What  are  you  driving 
at? 

EDMUND.  I  make  fifty  dollars  a  week  and  have  my 
people  to  help  along.  I  work  on  a  newspaper  and  have 
a  little  money  beside  that.  What  do  you  do? 

GARETH.  Not  that  it's  any  of  your  business,  but  I'm 
an  electric  inspector.  I  make  four  dollars  a  day  and 
haven't  anybody  to  look  out  for.  Now  say  what  you've 
got  to  say. 

EDMUND.     Are  you  in  this  floral  exhibit,  too? 

GARETH.  That's  none  of  your  business  either.  But 
I  am. 

EDMUND  (pointing  to  the  trellised  pot).  My  boy, 
we're  competing  with  millionaires.  (Gareth  chuckles  in 
spite  of  himself.)  Yours? 

GARETH.     Why  not? 

EDMUND.  But — but  they  must  have  cost  a  week's 
salary. 

GARETH  (proud  of  his  management).  Got  'em  at  a 
wholesale  nursery  before  the  Easter  prices  began,  and 
left  'em  at  a  Third  Avenue  florist  I'd  done  some  work 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise          125 

for.  Bought  the  basket  wholesale.  Ribbon  cost  most 
of  all.  Got  a  milliner  I'd  worked  for  to  tie  the  bow. 
Looks  like  the  Plaza,  don't  it?  Cost  me  just  nine 
dollars  and  forty-two  cents.  Now  what's  all  this 
about? 

EDMUND.     I  hardly  know  how  to  say. 

GARETH.  Are  you  coming  to  her  particular  dinner 
tomorrow  ? 

EDMUND  (hearing  of  it  for  the  first  time).  No,  are 
you? 

GARETH.     I?     Of  course  not! 

EDMUND.     It's  the  Metropolitan  Club  I  guess. 

GARETH.  What's  the  idea  of  telling  me  who  you  are 
and  what  you  make? 

EDMUND.     Frankly,  I  wanted  to  know  who  you  were. 

GARETH.     Why? 

EDMUND.  Why  did  you  want  to  know  if  I  was  the 
Metropolitan  Club?  (Gareih  shows  anger.)  I  fancy 
we  both  know  why  and  would  rather  not  say.  (He 
offers  his  hand,  which  Gareih  after  a  moment  shakes 
heartily.) 

GARETH  (diffidently  but  with  determination).  Did 
you  ever  hear  about  me? 

EDMUND.     No.     Did  you  ever  hear  about  me? 

GARETH  (fiercely).  Why  should  I  hear  about  any  of 
you!  But  I  guess  there's  not  much  stuff  coming  in 
here  I  don't  see.  Books,  flowers,  candy,  cigarettes.  And 
whenever  I  want  to  take  her  out  to  dinner,  she's  always 
going  with  somebody  else.  Taxi  at  seven,  theatre,  sup 
per  at  a  dance  place  afterward,  taxi  back!  And  some 
of  them  have  their  own  cars  for  an  all  Sunday  spin  in 
the  country.  Oh,  she  lets  me  hear  that  all  right!  And 
why  shouldn't  she?  I  ask  you  why  shouldn't  she? 

EDMUND.  Well,  if  it's  any  consolation,  she  lets  me 
hear  it  too. 

GARETH  (derisively).    Oh  you! 

EDMUND.     You're  the  one  who  buys  everything  from 


126  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

Victrolas  to  knitting  needles  wholesale,  aren't  you? 
Well,  I've  heard  about  him.  You  needn't  be  afraid 
you're  not  in  the  running.  The  Metropolitan  Club  may 
give  her  a  better  time,  but  you're  also  a  very  profitable 
friend. 

GARETH.  What  do  you  mean?  I  can't  give  her  any 
thing  she  wants. 

EDMUND.  How  many  of  her  presents  did  you  engi 
neer  last  Christmas? 

GARETH  (pleased).  Say,  she  makes  a  bushel  of  them, 
don't  she?  And  not  a  man  in  the  bunch.  Did  you  ever 
figure  out  she  was  so  stuck  on  her  women  friends  ? 

EDMUND.  My  boy,  when  a  woman  is  invited  to  din 
ner  she  has  to  pay  for  it.  Her  mere  presence  at  an 
other  woman's  table  isn't  supposed  to  be  a  sufficient 
compensation.  She  expects  a  man  to  think  that,  but 
not  another  woman.  (The  telephone  rings.  Both  men 
make  a  jump  toward  it,  exclaiming  "Emmeline."  Then 
both  hesitate.)  I'm  not  supposed  to  be  here. 

GARETH.  Me  neither.  Promised  her  I'd  be  gone  in 
five  minutes. 

EDMUND.  I'll  match  you — to  see  who  gets  in  Dutch. 
All  right,  pray  for  me.  (Taking  up  receiver.)  Hello. 
(To  Gareth.)  A  man!  (In  phone.)  No,  she's  not  at 
home.  Who  am  I?  Well,  really,  who  are  you?  The 
maid — has  scalded  her  finger  and  that's  the  reason  she 
couldn't  come.  Yes,  I'm  the  doctor.  Well,  hold  the 
wire  and  I'll  see  if  Miss  Archer  left  any  message.  (He 
puts  his  hand  over  the  transmitter.)  He  says  she 
phoned  him  to  call  her  up  most  importantly  just  before 
four  o'clock.  That  was  Mrs.  Boyer's  and  the  com 
mittee's  date.  Looks  as  if  she  wanted  them  to  know 
about  it.  Perhaps  it's  the  Metropolitan  Club.  Want 
to  have  a  look  at  him? 

GARETH.     Say,  what  do  you  mean? 

EDMUND.     Game  for  anything  that  happens? 

GARETH  (deciding).    Yes. 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  127 

EDMUND  (in  phone).  Hello,  the  maid  says  Miss  Ar 
cher  expects  you  to  tea  at  a  quarter  to  five.  Not  at  all. 
(He  hangs  up,  and  both  men  begin  to  pace  the  floor  in 
excitement.) 

GARETH.     What's  the  idea? 

EDMUND.     I'm  coming.     At  a  quarter  to  five. 

GARETH  (understanding).     Me  too. 

EDMUND  (warningly).     She'll  try  to  scare  you  off. 

GARETH  (suspiciously).    Why  me  any  more  than  you? 

EDMUND.     Me  too.     But  it  won't  work  with  me. 

GARETH  (angrily).  Oh  it  won't?  Well,  I'm  not  so 
easy  as  you  think. 

EDMUND  (extending  his  hand).  Don't  get  riled. 
We've  got  to  stand  together.  (Gareth  immediately 
grins  and  shakes  his  hand  cordially.  The  telephone 
rings.  Both  men  jump  apart  exclaiming  "Emmeline.") 

GARETH.     I'll  match  you. 

EDMUND   (grimly).     Your  turn. 

GARETH  (in  receiver,  most  mildly  and  conciliatingly) . 
Hello.  (To  Edmund.)  A  man!  (In  phone.)  Yes 
this  is  3065.  I  say  this  is  3065.  No,  she's  not  at  home. 
The  girl's  scalded  her  hand.  Yes,  I'm  the  doctor.  All 
right,  hold  the  wire.  (Putting  his  hand  over  the  trans 
mitter.)  She  phoned  him  to  call  her  up  about  four- 
thirty,  important. 

EDMUND.     Ask  him! 

GARETH  (in  phone).  Hello.  She  says  Miss  Archer 
expects  you  to  tea  at  a  quarter  to  five.  Don't  mention 
it.  (He  rises  excitedly.)  Quite  a  party! 

EDMUND.     Yes ! 

GARETH.     What  are  you  going  to  do? 

EDMUND.     See  them! 

GARETH.     But  she'll  find  out. 

EDMUND  (surprised).     Naturally.     I'll  tell  her. 

GARETH.  You've  got  your  nerve.  This  will  put  me 
in  bad. 

EDMUND.     No  worse  than  me.     What  of  it? 


128  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

GARETH.  What  of  it?  I  thought  of  course  you'd  get 
us  out  in  some  way. 

EDMUND.     You  said  you  were  game. 

GARETH.     Yes,  but — 

EDMUND.  See  here.  I  don't  know  how  long  she's 
kept  you  dangling  around.  Or  what  you're  dangling 
for.  But  I've  been  two  years  at  it,  and  I  don't  propose 
to  dangle  any  longer.  She's  got  to  decide  pretty  quick 
whether  she'll  marry  me  or  not? 

GARETH.     Marry  you? 

EDMUND.  You  don't  expect  her  to  marry  you,  do 
you? 

GARETH.     That's  none  of  your  damn  business ! 

EDMUND  {sympathetically  but  aware  of  the  humor  of 
his  position).  My  boy,  she's  balancing  me  off  with — 
with  the  Metropolitan  Club  and  God  knows  how  many 
limousines  and  country  places.  Where  do  you  think 
you'd  come  in? 

GARETH  (fiercely).  How  many  times  did  you  ever 
eat  with  her  here  alone? 

EDMUND.  Never.  Stands  me  fifteen  dollars  when 
she  dines  with  me. 

GARETH.  So  you  never  went  to  market  and  cooked 
dinner  for  her  on  the  girl's  day  out,  hey?  I  have  lots 
of  times.  And  I  could  tell  you  something  else  if  I 
wanted  to.  Did  she  ever  invent  a  name  for  you?  Be 
cause  she  wanted  to  call  you  a  name  all  her  own? 

EDMUND  (jealously).  You  don't  mean  to  say  she's 
got  one  for  you,  too. 

GARETH.     That's  my  business. 

EDMUND  (more  jealous  yet  still  sympathetic).  See 
here,  my  boy.  Excuse  me  for  saying  so,  but  it's  only 
decent.  You're  wasting  your  time.  (Pointing  to  the 
pot  of  flowers.)  Your  money,  and  your — your  heart. 
She'd  never  marry  you  in  the  world.  Why,  she  couldn't. 
You  better  cut  it. 

GARETH,    (furiously).     Who    asked   your   sympathy? 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  129 

All  for  my  own  good,  too!  You're  a  hell  of  a  one  to 
advise  me  to  clear  out. 

EDMUND  (angrily).     Don't  be  a  fool! 

GARETH.  I'm  in  charge  of  this  house  just  now.  Get 
out  or  I'll  throw  you  out. 

EDMUND  (standing  his  ground).  You  will,  will  you? 
(The  telephone  rings.  Both  men  jump  apart,  exclaim 
ing  "Emmeline.")  My  turn.  (Into  the  receiver,  with 
moderated  exasperation.)  Hello!  (To  Gareth.)  A 
man!  (Angrily.)  Yes,  this  is  3065.  What  do  you 
want?  She  can't  come.  She's  scalded  her  arm  and  I'm 
the  doctor.  (A  pause.)  Hold  the  wire.  (Springs  up, 
walks  the  floor  excitedly.) 

GARETH.     What  is  it? 

EDMUND.  What  the  devil  do  you  think  it  is? 
(Clenches  his  fsts  as  he  walks  up  and  down,  then  re 
turns  to  receiver.)  She  says  Miss  Archer  expects  you 
to  tea  at  five  o'clock.  Sharp!  (Hangs  up.)  I  suppose 
you'll  throw  us  all  out! 

GARETH  (sinking  into  a  chair  and  putting  his  head  in 
his  hands).  The  four  of  you!  And  every  one  of  you 
in  her  set — with  education,  money — 

EDMUND  (comforting  him).  Lord,  she  could  have 
taken  a  millionaire  long  ago  if  she  wanted  him.  Money 
isn't  what  she  wants.  Money  is  stupid.  She  likes  us 
because  we  are  interesting. 

GARETH  (looking  up).  There's  a  chance  of  her 
marrying  us? 

EDMUND.  Well,  she  wants  money  enough.  She 
won't  marry  me  unless  she  has  to. 

GARETH.     What  do  you  mean,  has  to? 

EDMUND.  To  keep  me.  But  she's  got  to  make  up 
her  mind  pretty  quick. 

GARETH  (uneasy  but  contemptuous).  Yes,  when  it 
came  to  a  show-down  you'd  crawl. 

EDMUND.  Perhaps  I  would.  But  I'd  bluff  to  the 
limit. 


130  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

GARETH.  Say,  what  right  did  she  ever  give  you  to 
dictate  terms  to  her  like  that? 

EDMUND  (wildly).  Emmeline!  She's  said  it  to  all 
of  us! 

GARETH  (still  very  apparently  quoting).  All  the 
same,  it's  morbidly  masculine.  The  airs  of  men  make 
me  sick. 

EDMUND.  My  boy,  that's  their  little  game.  Every 
woman  tells  every  man  that.  He's  morbid,  unreason 
able,  selfish.  When  he  isn't  that,  he's  thick-skulled, 
coarse-grained,  heavy-fisted!  They  have  all  the  intui 
tion,  all  the  finer  feelings,  all  the  delicate  instincts  there 
are.  That's  their  little  game  I  tell  you.  They've  been 
inventing  the  rules  of  it  for  centuries.  At  last  they've 
got  us  so  we  really  think  we're  the  clumsy  ele 
phants  they  say  we  are.  (The  door  button  rings. 
Both  men  cry  "Emmeline"  and  dart  toward  the  tele 
phone.  ) 

GARETH  (whispering).     It's  the  front  door. 

EDMUND.     Our  first  guest. 

GARETH.     Let's  not  hear  it. 

EDMUND  (nervously).     You  go  get  ready. 

GARETH.     I — well,  all  right. 

(He  goes  quickly.  Edmund  draws  a  long  breath, 
flexes  his  muscles,  opens  the  door.  Mrs.  Garton  stands 
there.  She  possesses  an  unaggressive  but  pervasive  air 
of  feminine  good  form.  An  embodiment  of  the  best 
standards  of  femininity,  reared  from  the  cradle  to  be, 
do,  and  desire  the  correct  thing.  What  little  individu 
ality  the  thorough  educational  process  has  left  her,  oc 
casionally  appears  in  a  wistful  bewilderment  when  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation,  not  yet  quite  ironed  out, 
vaguely  protests  at  any  danger  it  sniffs  from  without. 
She  is  richly  but  quietly  gowned,  and  her  black  furs  are 
heavy  and  elegant.) 

MARTHA.     Oh ! 

EDMUND  (recovering).     How  do  you  do? 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  131 

MARTHA.  Mrs.  Garton.  Our  committee  is  meeting 
with  Miss  Archer. 

EDMUND.  Yes,  er — come  in,  won't  you?  My  name 
is  Atkinson. 

MARTHA  (puzzled  to  account  for  his  presence). 
Thank  you.  (She  enters.)  You're  not  a  newspaper 
man? 

EDMUND.     Sort  of. 

MARTHA.  But  the  papers  were  to  know  nothing  of 
it.  Until  our  plans  were  formulated.  It  is  distressing 
enough  anyhow  that  this  is  an  age  of  advertising.  If  I 
had  my  way,  our  work  should  be  done  only  by  one 
woman's  heart  speaking  to  another. 

EDMUND.     Pardon  me,  I'm  not  here  on  business. 

MARTHA.  Oh!  Still,  now  that  you  are  here.  After 
all,  what  can  be  done  in  our  strident  times  without  pub 
licity?  Miss  Archer  has  doubtless  told  you? 

EDMUND.  I  know  only  there's  a  committee  meeting. 
From  Mrs.  Boyer. 

MARTHA.  Yes,  society  women  can  always  interest 
newspapers.  That's  why  I  chose  her.  It  all  came  out 
of  Miss  Archer's  last  great  book.  The  Dog  in  the 
Manger.  The  one  where  the  Mayor  who  had  done  so 
much  for  labor  and  the  poor  had  his  public  life  defeated 
because  of  the  revelation  of  certain — domestic  irregu 
larities.  That  book  was  the  third  turning  point  in  my 
life.  In  a  flash  of  lightning  I  saw  suddenly  that  Miss 
Archer  was  right.  That  both  women  and  the  Church 
lack  a  sense  of  proportion.  Of  course  I'm  not  in  the 
least  condoning  his  sin.  But  after  all  what  were  his 
domestic  irregularities  compared  to  his  public  services? 
Yet  the  condemnation  of  women  and  the  pulpits  ruined 
his  life  work.  And  after  closing  the  book  I  said  to 
myself  quite  involuntarily,  "That  is  my  life  work."  To 
change  the  public  attitude  of  women  toward  the  viola 
tion  of  the  marriage  vow  while  keeping  all  their  personal 
condemnation  for  it  absolutely  intact.  I  had  no  sooner 


132          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

seen  that  this  was  really  my  life  work,  than  I  saw  it 
was  only  an  extension  of  my  previous  life  work.  You 
perhaps  know  I  am  president  of  the  Society  to  Maintain 
that  Woman's  Place  is  the  Home.  I  saw  at  once  that 
this  new  idea  was  really  only  the  old  one.  To  keep 
Home  and  State  entirely  separate.  Though  the  instinc 
tive  sentiment  of  every  woman  is  God-given  and  im 
plicitly  reliable,  her  logic  is  not  always  infallible.  She 
must  be  made  to  see  that  her  affairs  are  not  the  State's 
affairs,  and  that  the  State  comes  first.  So  I  organized 
a  committee  to  discuss  propaganda.  And  asked 
the  Woman's  Suffrage  society  to  send  a  representa 
tive. 

EDMUND.     What!    Woman's  Suffrage! 

MARTHA.  So  I  thought  at  first.  But  women  must 
drop  their  minor  differences  and  unite  in  a  common 
purpose.  Though  suffragists  make  the  fundamental 
error  of  mixing  up  Home  and  State,  still  the  misguided 
creatures  think  they  have  the  welfare  of  the  State  at 
heart. 

EDMUND.  But  Emmeline — Miss  Archer — goes  even 
further.  She  is  a  femininist. 

MARTHA.  I  have  never  been  able  to  find  out  what 
their  platform  is.  I  believe  that  having  ruined  the 
Home,  they  want  to  abolish  it  altogether.  Yet  even 
that  is  in  the  name  of  the  wider  interest  of  the  State. 
So  we  three,  differing  so  enormously,  can  yet  all  join 
hands  in  this  crusade.  And  say  what  you  will,  women 
are  a  power. 

EDMUND.  Do  you  mind  if  I  run  away?  I've  an 
appointment  at  five.  (Going  to  door,  he  calls.")  Gar- 
rity!  Garrity!  That's  funny.  He  must  have  slipped 
out  the  back  way. 

MARTHA  (sighing  as  she  surveys  the  flowers).  How 
many  admirers  Emmeline  must  have! 

EDMUND.  Frightful  to  think  of  all  the  money  men 
spend  on  flowers  for  the  same  woman! 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise          133 

MARTHA.  Oh,  that's  unreasonable,  isn't  it?  Almost 
morbid,  don't  you  think? 

EDMUND  (cheerfully).  A  man  can  never  acquire  the 
finer  feelings  a  woman  is  born  with,  can  he?  By  the 
way,  I  was  to  tell  you  that  Miss  Archer  expects  a 
gentleman  to  tea.  At  five.  Good  afternoon.  (He  goes.) 

MARTHA  (beginning  after  a  moment  to  rehearse  a 
speech).  Gentlemen  of  the  Legislature.  It  is  repug 
nant  to  my  feelings  as  a  woman  to  stand  before  you  in 
this  public  capacity.  But  I  cannot  shirk  my  duty;  and 
it  is  my  mission  to  come  and  tell  you  what  you  know  so 
well  already.  The  Home  is  part  of  the  State  but  the 
State  is  not  part  of  the  Home.  The  whole  can  never  be 
part  of  one  of  its  parts.  The  Home  is  the  unit  of  the 
State  but  politics  must  be  kept  out  of  it.  (The  phone 
rings.  After  a  moment  of  uncertainty,  she  answers  it.) 
Perhaps  that's  Emmeline.  (In  the  phone.)  Yes?  No, 
this  is  not  Emmeline.  Oh  yes,  you  are  the  gentleman 
she  was  expecting  to  come  to  tea  at  five.  Not  at  all. 
(She  hangs  up  the  receiver.) 

EMMELINE  (opening  the  front  door  and  speaking  off). 
Thanks  so  much  for  the  lift  in  the  taxi.  I  warned  you 
I  shouldn't  ask  you  in.  It  was  a  beautiful  luncheon, 
you  extravagant  young  man.  Even  if  your  necktie  did 
quarrel  with  my  hat.  Drop  in  some  afternoon  for  a 
cup  of  tea.  I'll  phone  you.  Goodbye. 

(She  enters.  A  young  woman  of  charm,  distinctiont 
and  beauty,  with  masses  of  black  hair.  A  broad  stole 
of  leopard  skin  drags  from  her  shoulder  in  barbaric 
opulence,  from  the  ends  of  which  hang  the  legs  of  the 
animal  with  conspicuous  highly  polished  claws;  a  large 
muff  to  match,  hanging  with  the  bushy  tails  of  several 
other  animals.  Sane,  humorous,  poised,  she  impresses  at 
once  as  a  healthy  and  achieving  person.  She  has  an  air 
of  assurance  born  of  a  consciousness  of  her  personal 
attractions  and  increased  by  subsequent  successes  other 
than  social.  Yet  there  is  a  suspicion  of  complacency 


134  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

which  would  tell  against  a  less  pleasing  personality.} 
So  ashamed!  Really  never  late  for  anything.  (Shak 
ing  hands.)  Where  is  Mrs.  Boyer? 

MARTHA.     Not  come  yet. 

EMMELINE.     Oh!      Who   was   here  when  you   came? 

MARTHA.     A  Mr.  Atkinson. 

EMMELINE:  (concealing  her  surprise  and  disapproval). 
No  one  else?  Excuse  me.  (Looking  in  room  Right, 
then  calling.)  Annie!  (Returning  after  a  moment.) 
Mr.  Atkinson  is  a  brisk  and  delightful  person,  isn't  he? 
Came  on  business  I  suppose?  No  message? 

MARTHA.     He  left  yours. 

EMMELINE.     Mine? 

MARTHA.  That  you  were  expecting  a  gentleman  to 
tea  at  five. 

EMMELINEI  (making  a  rapid  calculation).  Annie  must 
have  told  him  in  that  helpless  way  of  hers  when  she 
had  to  go  out.  Yes,  I  couldn't  help  it.  He  is  leaving 
town  tomorrow.  He  gave  me  a  lovely  dinner  at  the 
Biltmore  last  night — appallingly  expensive.  So  before 
he  went,  I  simply  had  to  give  him  a  cup  of  tea. 

MARTHA.  It's  perfectly  all  right.  What  a  nice 
place!  Too  bad  these  fine  old  downtown  houses  have 
to  be  cut  up  into  apartments. 

EMMELINE.  The  worst  of  it  is  there's  no  hall  ser 
vice  and  people  can  come  up  without  phoning.  You've 
no  chance  to  be  out. 

MARTHA.     I  wish  our  third  member  would  come. 

EMMELINE.  I  hope  you  understand,  Martha,  that 
you  are  in  for  the  stiffest  thing  you  ever  tackled.  Bad 
enough  to  make  headway  with  most  of  the  suffragists. 
But  you  with  the  antis?  You  understand  what  we  are 
doing?  That  we  mean  to  invade  the  field  of  woman's 
traditional  morality  and  sentiment? 

MARTHA.  I  understand  it  quite  completely.  But  it's 
only  her  public  attitude.  Her  public  attitude  and  he* 
private  attitude  should  be  kept  quite  separate.  No  one 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise          135 

understands  that  so  well  as  we  who  are  opposed  to 
mixing  up  State  and  Home.  (With  a  tinge  of  warmth.) 
Why,  then,  should  it  be  easier  with  the  suffragists? 

EMMELINE  (picking  her  words  carefully,  and  thus 
adding  to  the  previous  impression  that  she  regards 
Martha  as  a  child).  Why  because — because  women  who 
believe  in  their  political  independence  generally  believe 
in  economic  independence  also.  And  woman's  traditional 
morality  and  sentiment — about  man's  domestic  irregu 
larities — are  largely  the  result  of  her  dependence  on 
man  and  hence  competition  for  his  support.  Her  own 
livelihood  was  threatened. 

MARTHA.     Emmeline ! 

EMMELINE.  I  don't  mean,  mind  you,  that's  all  there 
is  to  it  now. 

MARTHA.  There's  no  such  thing  as  morality  and 
virtue  born  in  woman  as  a  sex?  Just  because  she  is  a 
woman  ? 

EMMELINE  (conciliatingly) .  Perhaps  not  just  that. 
But  most  virtues  are  in  a  broad  sense  economic.  An 
act  helps  or  harms.  If  one,  it  is  good;  if  the  other, 
bad. 

MARTHA.  Virtues  were  virtues  and  vices  vices  be 
fore  the  beginning  of  time.  Before  ever  the  earth  was. 

EMMELINE.  Well,  dear,  need  we  go  into  that?  I 
just  wanted  you  to  appreciate  our  campaign  would  be 
difficult.  It's  going  to  be  hard  to  make  women  see  that 
there  are  twelve  commandments,  and  that  one-twelfth  is 
not  greater  than  eleven  twelfths. 

MARTHA.  But  it  isn't  only  women.  The  pulpits  did 
as  much  as  the  women  to  ruin  the  Mayor  in  your  book. 

EMMELINE.  The  Church  is  supported  by  women. 
Consequently  it  caters  to  them  largely  and  falls  into  the 
same  exaggerations.  Besides,  ministers  come  in  the 
category  of  women  anyway,  in  their  traditional  remote 
ness  from  actual  economic  affairs  and  their  traditional 
subservience  to  another's  will. 


136          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

MARTHA  (breathlessly).  Emmeline!  Do  you  mean 
to  say  I'm  going  to  attack  religion? 

EMMELINE.  Not  at  all,  dear.  Just  showing  you  how 
it  comes  that  both  Church  and  women  lack  a  sense  of 
proportion. 

MARTHA  (almost  tremulously).  Tell  me  one  thing, 
Emmeline.  There's  nothing  in  this  cause,  is  there, 
which  will  endanger  our  position?  Pardon  me,  dear, 
but  I  feel  I  must  say  it.  Nothing  which  will  work  out 
as  your  Suffrage  has.  To  lessen  the  innate  chivalry  of 
men  to  women. 

EMMELINE.  Chivalry?  A  beautiful  gesture  in  the 
grand  style.  Only  superficial  manners,  empty  deference 
without  real  protection.  Look  at  our  Southern  States 
if  you  wish  to  see  in  a  word  what  is  man's  chivalry  to 
woman?  Where  chivalry  is  the  highest  the  age  of  con 
sent  is  the  lowest?  (A  pause.)  So  many  things  you 
could  understand  better  if  you  were  not  a  happily  mar 
ried  woman. 

MARTHA.  Oh!  (Suddenly  speaking  out  of  a  pent- 
up  emotion.)  I  am  not  a  happily  married  woman. 

EMMELINE   (distressed).     Forgive  me. 

MARTHA.  I  had  no  intention  of  saying  it.  I  never 
told  anyone  before.  But  my  husband  is  not  only  untrue 
to  me.  A — a  mistress  for  years. 

EMMELINE.     Martha!     I  am  sorry.     I — 

MARTHA.  And  she  makes  him  spend  a  lot  of  money. 
Money  I  need  for  my  children,  for  his  home,  and  his 
position  in  society.  Her  furs  are  better  than  mine. 
Goes  around  in  her  ermine  while  I'm  worn  out  with 
the  struggle  to  keep  up  appearances.  On  half  his 
income. 

EMMELINE   (gently).     Why  do  you  not  divorce  him? 

MARTHA.  Break  up  the  sanctity  of  our  home?  De 
prive  my  little  ones  of  their  father?  Send  them  into 
life  publicly  branded  as  the  children  of  a  divorced 
woman?  No,  a  nice  woman  takes  a  man  for  better  or 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  137 

for  worse,  but  forever.  She  must  submit  in  silence. 
Hold  fast  to  all  things,  suffer  all  things,  endure  all 
things.  For  the  sake  of  society  and  her  children. 

EMMELINE.  But  don't  you  see  that  he  has  already 
broken  up  your  home? 

MARTHA.  No  one  knows  it.  Even  the  children  do 
not  realize  it  themselves.  Oh,  what  I  have  gone  through 
trying  to  keep  up  appearances  with  them,  with  every 
body  !  As  for  money — my  money  this  woman  is  plaster 
ing  herself  with! — the  only  way  I  can  get  any  at  all 
is  by  overcharging. 

EMMELINE.     By  overcharging? 

MARTHA.  An  arrangement  with  all  my  tradesmen. 
They  are  very  nice  about  it.  They  charge  him  every 
month  twenty  per  cent  more  than  I  have  had.  And 
hand  it  over  to  me  when  he's  paid  the  bill. 

EMMELINE  (rising  and  concealing  her  condemnation). 
That  must  be  humiliating. 

MARTHA.  It's  the  only  way  I  can  preserve  the  sanc 
tity  of  my  home.  And  get  decent  clothes  for  my  back. 

EMMELINE  (as  the  bell  rings).  That  must  be  Mrs. 
Boyer.  Shall  I— 

MARTHA  (dabbing  her  eyes  and  cheeks).  Just  a  mo 
ment.  All  right. 

EMMELINE  (opening  door).  Leonora.  So  ashamed 
to  be  late. 

MARTHA  (a*  Mrs.  Boyer  comes  in).  Leonora  Ash- 
ton!  Are  you  Mrs.  Boyer? 

MRS.  BOYER.    Martha!  (The  ladies  embrace  warmly.) 

EMMELINE.     I  thought  you  knew  it. 

MARTHA.  Surely  I  heard  somewhere  your  name  was 
Hilda. 

MRS.  BOYER.  My  middle  name.  I  dropped  the 
Leonora  after  college  days.  (Scrutinizing  Martha.) 
Really,  you  know,  seeing  you  again  makes  me  feel  like 
our  old  basket  ball  team.  You  remember  you  thought 
it  unladylike  for  us  to  have  a  yell.  Emmeline  persuaded 


138  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

you  that  if  we  had  athletic  contests  like  the  boys  we 
must  have  everything  else  that  went  with  them.  (She 
sits  upon  sofa.)  Before  I  say  another  word,  I  really 
must  slip  off  my  shoes.  They  always  hurt  me.  But  I 
can't  go  round  with  feet  like  a  hippopotamus. 

MARTHA  (sitting  down  beside  her).  If  you  don't 
mind,  Emmeline.  Though  these  I  have  on  are  a  world 
too  large. 

MRS.  BOYER.  Don't  be  a  humbug,  Martha.  No  men 
present. 

EMMELINE  (sitting  down  beside  her  and  slipping  off 
her  shoes  also).  It's  a  great  relief. 

MARTHA.  Poor  mother  was  scandalized  when  mine 
began  to — to  expand. 

MRS.  BOYER.  I  bet  we  have  gym  and  basket  ball  to 
thank  for  that.  Those  shapeless  sneakers. 

EMMELINE.  It's  girls  doing  things  instead  of  sitting 
at  home  embroidering.  Glove-makers  and  shoemakers 
say  the  average  is  a  size  larger. 

MARTHA   (tremulously).     Where  is  it  going  to  stop! 

EMMELINE  (shrugging).  The  price  we  pay  for  better 
health  and  stronger  constitutions. 

MRS.  BOYER.     More  than  they're  worth. 

MARTHA.  I  told  you  then  that  athletics  were  unlady 
like.  I  don't  care  what  they  say,  I  shan't  let  my  daugh 
ter  go  in  for  them. 

EMMELINE.  There's  one  consolation.  If  women  have 
to  have  bigger  hands  and  feet,  they  can  force  men  to 
change  their  ideal  of  feminine  beauty.  All  the  Greek 
goddesses  had  big  hands  and  feet.  (Complacently  ap 
praising  the  furs  of  the  other  two.)  How  well  our  furs 
go  together!  We  look  like  three  hunters  of  old,  don't 
we?  Dressed  in  the  beasts  they  killed. 

MARTHA  (with  a  gasp).  Hilda!  You  are  the  one 
who  is  suing  the  old  gentleman  for  breach  of  promise. 

MRS.  BOYER  (laughing).  Going  to  be  shocked  like 
Emmeline  ? 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  139 

MARTHA.  The  publicity  of  it!  To  expose  one's  in 
timate  and  sacred  things  in  the  market  place.  But  of 
course  after  spoiling  your  chances  for  two  years  he 
owed  you  something. 

EMMELINE.     What  right  has  she  to  his  money? 

MRS.  BOYER  (gaily).     He's  a  man,  isn't  he? 

EMMELINE.     What  right  has  she? 

MARTHA.  Wouldn't  she  have  a  right  if  he  had  mar 
ried  her?  He  almost  married  her.  He  kept  other  men 
from  marrying  her,  didn't  he?  If  you  lease  an  apart 
ment  and  don't  take  it,  the  landlord  says  you  kept  other 
people  from  taking  it  and  makes  you  pay.  I  know  be 
cause  I've  tried  to  break  my  lease  and  couldn't.  I  saw 
an  apartment  I  liked  ever  so  much  better  and  for  less 
money,  too. 

MRS.  BOYER  (laughing).  Believe  in  alimony,  don't 
you  Emmeline?  Didn't  you  write  a  book  on  that? 

MARTHA.  Do  you  get  alimony?  And  run  your  home 
to  suit  yourself?  Aren't  you  lucky?  But  I  don't  think 
you're  quite  fair — if  I  may  say  so — in  wanting  alimony 
and  breach  of  promise  too. 

MRS.  BOYER.  Silly,  as  if  I  could  get  it!  But  I'd 
better  be  on  with  the  new  love  before  I'm  off  with  the 
old,  hadn't  I? 

MARTHA.  Oh,  I  am  relieved!  So  long  as  you  don't 
have  both  at  once.  A  woman  can't  be  too  scrupulous  in 
such  matters. 

EMMELINE.  Alimony,  yes.  Only  under  certain  cir 
cumstances,  however.  But  you  have  no  children  and 
you  have  your  own  income,  you  have  not  sacrificed  your 
youth  and  strength  to  a  man.  If  you  have  to  go  to 
work,  you  wouldn't  have  the  slightest  handicap  by  rea 
son  of  your  marriage. 

MARTHA.  Why,  Emmeline,  you're  positively  immoral. 
Heaven  knows  I  don't  believe  in  divorce.  What  God 
has  joined  together  let  no  man  put  asunder.  Except  a 
legal  separation  for  life  of  course.  But  if  a  man  can 


140          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

get  quit  of  a  woman  without  its  costing  him  anything, 
what's  to  prevent  him  doing  it  over  and  over  again? 

MRS.  BOYER.  It's  a  social  duty  women  owe.  Why 
shouldn't  the  cad  I  married  pay  me  money?  Do  you 
know  what  he  did  ?  We  agreed  to  get  a  divorce  in  France 
because  it's  easier.  So  I  bought  a  place  over  there,  and 
the  French  law  allowed  him  to  keep  half  of  it.  Now  in 
stead  of  supporting  only  his  mistress,  I'm  supporting  a 
second  wife  beside. 

MARTHA  (rising  with  decision  and  stepping  out  over 
her  shoes).  There  comes  a  time  when  logic  must  go  to 
the  wall.  I  don't  care  if  women  are  mixing  up  State 
and  Home!  I  don't  propose  to  start  any  campaign 
which  will  make  it  easier  for  men  to  dodge  their  mar 
riage  ties. 

EMMELINE  (quietly).  I  told  you  I  was  surprised. 
(To  Mrs.  Bayer.)  How  did  you  come  to  be  in  it? 

MRS.  BOYER  (laughing).  An  idle  rich  woman  must 
do  something  these  days.  A  cause  keeps  her  before  the 
public  far  better  than  charity  bazaars. 

MARTHA.  Come  with  us.  Protect  the  sanctity  of  the 
Home. 

MRS.  BOYER.  No  lost  causes  for  me.  I  want  to  blaze 
a  trail. 

EMMELINE  (coolly).  You  would  damage  any  cause 
you  undertook.  A  rich  woman  who  levies  a  tax  upon 
one  man  because  he  gave  her  his  name  and  wants  an 
indemnity  from  another  because  he  didn't. 

MRS.  BOYER  (rising  energetically  and  stepping  out 
over  her  shoes).  Stuff!  Men  have  enslaved  and  ex 
ploited  us  since  history  began.  We  have  a  right  to  get 
even  whenever  we  get  a  chance.  Precious  few  chances 
we  have. 

EMMELINE.  I  grant  women  have  been  slaves  through 
out  history.  And  so  they  have  for  their  birthright  the 
typical  slave  morality.  Anything  they  can  appropriate 
of  the  master's  they  think  is  theirs  by  rights.  But  be 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise 

logical.  A  woman  cannot  exist,  any  more  than  a  na 
tion,  half-slave  and  half-free.  You  refuse  to  go  back 
to  the  old  days  when  you  were  slave?  Then  be  entirely 
free.  But  being  free  as  a  man,  be  as  honest  as  a  man. 
Give  up  the  old  slave  morality. 

MARTHA.  Free  as  a  man?  Men  break  their  mar 
riage  vows  whenever  they  want  to.  Which  is  gen 
erally. 

EMMELINE  (seeing  an  opportunity  to  tangle  her  up). 
Well? 

MARTHA  (almost  in  tears).  And  women  don't  want 
to.  They  ought  to  want  to  or  men  ought  not  to  want 
to.  That's  the  only  way  there  can  ever  be  equality. 

EMMELINE.     Well? 

MARTHA  (helpless  at  being  forced  to  pursue  her 
point).  Women  should  either  have  no  sentiment  in  mar 
riage  at  all  or  men  should  have  more.  It's  this  half  and 
half  business  which  sacrifices  women.  They  were 
brought  up  to  have  sentiment  about  marriage  and  men 
to  laugh  at  it.  (With  the  fervor  of  discovery.)  That's 
the  trouble.  Oh,  Emmeline,  can't  you  write  a  book  about 
it?  That  would  be  a  splendid  new  cause  for  us.  I'm 
sure  we  can  all  join  hands  in  it. 

EMMELINE.  Which  side  will  you  take?  It's  hopeless 
trying  to  change  men.  Two  thousand  years  of  senti 
mentalizing  haven't  made  them  monogamous  yet.  Do 
you  want  to  change  women? 

MARTHA  (aghast).  I  don't  know  what  I  want.  I 
want  something  different.  We  women  wear  out  our 
hearts  and  our  lives  in  a  forlorn  hope.  Battling  to  keep 
up  a  sentiment  which  men  have  grown  tired  of  pretend 
ing.  Men  don't  believe  in  the  home.  And  we  women 
have  got  to  try  to  save  it.  Even  if  you  have  profaned 
it  with  politics. 

EMMELINE.     Why  have  you  got  to  save  it? 

MARTHA.  Emmeline!  Home  is  where  mother  is. 
The  one  sheltered  oasis  in  the  desert  of  the  world. 


142  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

EMMELINE.  Save  it  for  men?  You  confess  they 
don't  believe  in  it,  and  apparently  you  are  right.  Save 
it  for  women?  You  say  their  working  and  voting  will 
ruin  it,  and  apparently  they  intend  to  work  and  vote. 
Save  it  for  the  children?  Apparently  they  leave  it  as 
soon  as  they  are  able.  For  whom  then  must  you  save 
it?  Nobody  seems  to  want  to  stay  in  it. 

MRS.  BOYER,  Fiddlesticks  !  You're  trying  to  saw  off 
the  limb  you're  sitting  on.  Abolish  the  home  and  you 
abolish  the  importance  of  women. 

EMMELINE.  Not  if  they  work  and  vote.  Besides, 
which  is  the  more  important?  The  woman  a  man's  try 
ing  to  marry  or  the  woman  after  he  gets  her? 

MRS.  BOYER  (laughing).  You  have  me  there.  She'll 
always  be  important  until  man  stops  wanting  to  run 
after  her.  (Indicating  flowers.)  By  the  way,  you  seem 
to  have  considerable  importance. 

EMMELINE  (suddenly  noticing  trellised  pot,  goes  to 
it  and  holds  up  ribbon  with  surprise  and  delight.)  Why! 

MRS.  BOYER.     Sweet  little  trifle,  isn't  it? 

MARTHA.  How  could  any  florist  have  killed  those 
roses  with  that  ribbon !  And  such  loads  of  it ! 

EMMELINE.  Florist!  This  ribbon  cost  four  dollars 
a  yard. 

MRS.  BOYER  (cattily).    Fortunate  you  can  wear  it. 

EMMELINE.  Yes,  I  wanted  one  just  like  it  for  a 
gypsy  costume,  and  decided  I  couldn't  afford  it.  I  sup 
pose  he  would  have  been  shocked  if  I  had  let  him  buy 
it  for  me.  But  now  he'll  be  complimented  if  I  wear  it 
instead  of  throwing  it  away.  Aren't  men  amusing  crea 
tures?  (Indicating  the  rest  of  the  floral  exhibit.)  And 
isn't  it  frightful  what  they  spend  for  flowers ! 

MARTHA  (sighing).     No  one  spends  any  on  me. 

MRS.  BOYER  (laughing  shrewdly).  When  they  might 
spend  it  on  something  that  didn't  fade  so  soon,  you 
mean,  Emmeline?  By  the  way,  who  was  that  interesting 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise          143 

young  man  who  let  me  in?  Doing  something  for  you, 
I  believe? 

EMMELINE  (carefully  casual,  suspicious  at  the  patness 
of  the  inquiry).  He  came  here  to  inspect  something 
or  other.  Occasionally  he's  fixed  some  things  for  me 
since. 

MRS.  BOYER.     Seems  to  know  you  rather  well. 

EMMELINE.  A  simple,  naive  nature  very  interesting 
to  me  as  a  novelist. 

MRS.  BOYER.  Well,  if  he's  as  handy  as  he's  good- 
looking,,  I'd  let  him  inspect  me  often. 

MARTHA.  Oh,  Emmeline !  Will  you  let  him  fix  things 
for  me?  Everything  is  out  of  order,  and  I  simply  can't 
afford  it. 

MRS.  BOYER  (laughing).  Go  it,  Martha!  Get  all 
you  can  out  of  them  I  say.  Little  enough,  heaven 
knows ! 

EMMELINE  (vigorously).  Girls!  It's  disheartening 
to  try  to  do  anything  for  women  when  that's  their  gen 
eral  attitude.  Here  you  are  both  of  you.  Parasites. 
Each  in  your  own  way,  one  in  the  open,  one  in  secret. 
But  each  getting  all  she  can  by  the  means  at  her  dis 
posal — fair  or  foul.  I  grant  you  that  men  never  did, 
do  not  yet,  play  fair  themselves.  But  how  are  we  ever 
going  to  mend  matters?  If  you  women  aren't  willing 
to  be  honest  even  when  you  get  the  chance! 

MARTHA   (aghast).     Honest! 

MRS.  BOYER.     You  are,  of  course. 

EMMELINE.  I  work  for  my  living,  I  owe  nothing  to 
any  man,  I  pay  for  what  I  get.  If  a  man  invites  me 
to  dinner,  I  always  ask  him  for  a  cup  of  tea. 

MARTHA  (somewhat  terrified  at  her  vigor).  Oh,  a 
gentleman  was  coming  at  five. 

EMMELINE  (sharply).  What  do  you  mean?  I  told 
you  so. 

MARTHA.  No,  someone  phoned.  I  thought  it  was 
you  and  answered. 


144  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

EMMELINE.     Answered?     Who  was  it? 

MARTHA  (increasingly  nervous).  I  don't  know.  I 
thought  it  was  the  one  Mr.  Atkinson  spoke  of. 

EMMELINE  (going  to  door  and  calling).  Annie! 
(Coming  away  again  after  a  moment.)  I'd  like  to  know 
how  Mr.  Atkinson  knew  about  a  gentleman  coming  to 
tea. 

MRS.  BOYER  (laughing).  Or  what  gentleman.  (The 
bell  rings.  The  ladies  all  dive  for  their  shoes.)  Must 
be  inconvenient  for  people  to  come  without  sending 
their  names  up. 

MARTHA  (whispering  apologetically).  We'll  go  at 
once  of  course. 

EMMELINE.  I  may  want  you  to  help  me  out.  (She 
opens  the  door  to  Edmund.) 

EDMUND  (banteringly).  Good  afternoon,  Emme- 
line. 

EMMELINE   (without  cordiality).     Good  afternoon. 

EDMUND.     Well,  mayn't  I  come  in  ? 

EMMELINE.  You  can't  see  me  without  phoning,  you 
know.  But  Mrs.  Garton  wants  to  speak  to  you.  (As 
Edmund  enters  and  Martha  grows  more  fluttered).  To 
get  that  message  straight,  Martha. 

MARTHA,  I — quite  forgot  what  gentleman  you  said 
was  coming  to  tea. 

EDMUND.     I  didn't  say. 

EMMELINE  (tartly).    Well,  who  is  it? 

EDMUND.     I  hope  I  am.     For  one. 

MARTHA  (helplessly).     But  I  phoned  someone  else. 

EDMUND  (exultantly).  Someone  else?  That  makes 
— two  of  us  then. 

EMMELINE   (frigidly).     Exactly. 

EDMUND.  Not  exactly.  That  is,  apparently,  you 
didn't  figure  on  me.  But  now  I've  happened  in? 

EMMELINE.  When  /  want  people  to  tea,  I  usually 
ask  them. 

EDMUND.     You're  embarrassing  me. 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  145 

MRS.  BOYER  {gaily).  Perhaps  you're  embarrassing 
her.  You've  asked  yourself.  Martha  has  asked  some 
one — name  unknown.  Maybe  Emmeline  took  the  lib 
erty. 

EDMUND.     Did  you,  Emmeline? 

EMMELINE.     Perhaps  it  was  presumptuous. 

EDMUND.  That  makes — three  of  us !  And  at  least 
two  of  them  unexpected. 

EMMELINE  {pointedly).     At  least  two. 

MARTHA  {nervously).     I  must  be  going. 

MRS.  BOYER.  Shall  I  take  this  young  man  along  with 
me? 

EDMUND.     I  shall  stay  till  I'm  put  out,  Mrs.    Boyer. 

MARTHA  {shaking  hands).  I'm  sure  I  had  the  best 
intentions. 

MRS.  BOYER  {at  door).  Good-bye.  Better  come 
along.  Oh,  by  the  way,  he  split  the  difference.  {They 

#>•) 

EDMUND.  Why  don't  you  tell  me  to  go,  if  I'm  in  the 
way. 

EMMELINE.     I  thought  I'd  let  it  dawn  on  you. 

EDMUND.     That's  a  good  idea. 

EMMELINE.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  ask  you  a  question. 
Did  Annie  let  you  in  when  you  first  came  ?  Who  did  ? 

EDMUND.     Garrity. 

EMMELINE.     Oh!     How  soon  did  he  leave? 

EDMUND.     Not  before  we'd — chatted  a  while. 

EMMELINE  {suppressing  her  annoyance).  Well,  why 
don't  you  ask  me  who  he  is? 

EDMUND.  I  know.  A  good-looking  giant  you  think 
you're  educating.  You're  really  making  him  unfit  for 
any  other  woman.  You  don't  want  him  yourself  and 
you're  keeping  him  from  everybody  else.  Oh,  I  don't 
blame  you  unduly.  Every  woman  likes  to  own  a  man, 
whom  she  can  order  to  come  and  go  as  she  pleases.  Es 
pecially  if  he  shakes  his  chain  every  now  and  then  and 
growls  fiercely.  They  don't  like  'em  too  tame. 


146          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

EMMELINE  (suppressing  her  annoyance).  I  thought 
I  told  you  always  to  phone  when  you  wanted  to  call. 

EDMUND.  I  came  on  business.  The  same  that  brings 
me  now. 

EMMEHNE.     And  that  is? 

EDMUND.  To  ask  you  to  marry  me.  Before  the  rush 
begins. 

EMMELINE.  Must  we  go  into  that  again?  I  told 
you  while  I  had  my  book  to  finish  I  couldn't  have  any 
thing  on  my  mind. 

EDMUND.  So  you  said  a  year  ago.  Then  you  began 
this  book  before  you'd  finished  the  other  one.  Will  you 
marry  me? 

EMMELINE.  I  really  can't  dispose  of  a  little  trifle  like 
that  when  I'm  expecting  another  man  at  any  moment? 
Either  way,  it  will  spoil  my  tea. 

EDMUND.  My  dear  Emmeline,  I  don't  care  if  you 
expect  one  man  or  five,  I  demand  an  immediate  an 
swer. 

EMMELINE.  B-r-r-r-h!  And  what  if  you  don't  get 
it? 

EDMUND.     Then  I'll  get  out.     For  good. 

EMMELINE  (deciding  on  other  tactics).  The  usual 
masculine  hold-up.  I  know  we'd  come  to  it  sooner  or 
later. 

EDMUND.     Now  that  it's  later,  take  me  or  leave  me. 

EMMELINE.     Are  you  really  serious? 

EDMUND.     Grimly. 

EMMELINE.  What  right  have  I  ever  given  you  to  dic 
tate  like  this?  (He  snorts.)  Have  I  ever  led  you  on? 

EDMUND.     You  haven't  exactly  shoved  me  off. 

EMMELINE.  Two  years  ago  you  came  to  me  with  a 
man's  usual  lordly  ideas  about  a  woman.  She  was  his 
to  choose  if  he  wanted  her — he  would  see  if  she'd  suit. 
When  you  decided  that  you  did  want  me,  of  course  I 
must  take  you  at  once.  How  about  letting  me  see  if 
you'll  suit? 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  147 

EDMUND.     Two  years  is  long  enough  to  find  out. 

EMMELINE.  We  haven't  the  quick  wits  of  the  lords 
of  creation. 

EDMUND.  Because  you're  trying  to  decide  on  so  many 
at  once.  And  each  one  with  nobody  in  his  mind  but  you. 

EMMELINE  (scornfully).     That's  likely! 

EDMUND.  I  should  say  it  was.  No  man  has  time 
and  money  enough  to  run  after  two  women  at  once.  Not 
if  she's  on  to  her  job. 

EMMELINE.     Do  you  mean  to  be  offensive? 

EDMUND.  Merely  defensive.  Do  you  marry  me  or 
do  you  not? 

EMMELINE.     Young  man,  march. 

EDMUND.     Not  before  an  answer. 

EMMELINE   (gaily).     Shall  I  call  a  policeman? 

EDMUND.  Emmeline,  if  I  go  out  of  that  door  I'm  not 
coming  back  again. 

EMMELINE.  You  can't  bully  me  into  an  answer.  (He 
starts  to  the  door  determinedly.  She  goes  on  more  coax- 
ingly.)  I  haven't  time  for  an  answer  just  now  with 
someone  coming  to  tea. 

EDMUND  (stopping).  To  tea?  Oh,  yes.  (He  comes 
back.)  Emmeline,  I  adore  you.  Wouldn't  you  find  life 
stupid  with  one  of  your  millionaire  duffers? 

EMMELINE.  How  do  you  like  my  new  hat?  I  al 
ways  depend  on  your  taste.  For  me.  You  haven't  any 
for  yourself.  I'm  ashamed  of  those  gay  ties  of  yours. 

EDMUND  (critically).  Charming.  But — what's  the 
use  of  having  such  glorious  black  hair  if  you're  going  to 
hide  it.  That  red  rose  should  hang  down  on  your  pink 
ear.  (He  pulls  himself  up.)  No,  you  don't!  Do  you 
marry  me  or  do  you  not? 

EMMELINE.     You  really  must  be  going. 

EDMUND  (sharply).  Goodbye,  then!  (He  strides  to 
the  door.) 

EMMELINE.  Now,  Bunny  dear!  Don't  be  unreason 
able.  I  can't  answer  you  all  at  once.  (Alluringly.) 


148          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

You're  the  last  man  in  the  world  I  could  answer  all  at 
once. 

EDMUND.  Darling!  (With  a  swift  change.)  What 
do  you  mean  by  that? 

EMMELINE.     Can't  you  guess? 

EDMUND.     No.     That's  why  you  said  it. 

EMMELINE.     You're  as  stupid  as  the  rest  of  them. 

EDMUND  (wildly).  Trickery!  You  women  haven't 
an  honest  bone  in  your  body. 

EMMELINE   (changing  her  tactics).     Please  go. 

EDMUND.     Not  until  I  have  my  answer. 

EMMELINE.     My  answer  is  no. 

EDMUND  (blankly).  No?  (He  starts  to  go,  then 
comes  back.)  Then  I  won't  go  until — something  else 
happens. 

EMMELINE  (icily).  Good  afternoon.  (She  goes  into 
room.  Edmund,  after  a  moment  of  uncertainty  in  which 
he  feels  foolish,  picks  up  his  hat  and  goes  toward  door. 
The  bell  rings.  Emmeline  at  once  appears;  and  speaks 
softly,  quickly,  and  coaxingly.)  Bunny  dear,  don't  be 
mean  and  do  help  me.  I  have  a  particular  reason  for 
my  being  alone  when  he  comes.  (With  confusion,  of 
the  attractiveness  of  which  she  is  quite  aware.)  It's 
nothing  at  all  and  I'll  explain  to  you  later.  But  won't 
you  go  out  through  the  kitchen — after  I  let  him  in? 
(He  hesitates.)  When  I  have  humbled  myself  like  this? 
Aren't  you  going  to  show  your  appreciation — that  I've 
asked  you  what  I  wouldn't  ask  any  other  man  in  the 
world.  (Edmund  comes  to  her  at  the  door  as  if  about 
to  embrace  her  in  his  flight,  but  she  dodges  and  prettily 
accelerates  his  departure.)  Please!  (She  quickly  runs 
to  the  mirror  as  the  bell  rings  again,  takes  off  her  hat 
and  opens  the  door.  To  Gareth,  who  has  left  off  his 
overalls.)  Oh!  what  is  it?  You're  always  forgetting 
and  leaving  things. 

GARETH  (with  suppressed  excitement).  I  haven't 
forgotten  anything.  I  want  to  see  you. 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  149 

EMMELINE.     You  can't  come  in. 

GARETH.     Yes,  I  will.      {He  enters.) 

EMMELINE  {noting  his  seriousness).  I  am  expecting 
someone. 

GARETH.  Yes.  Which  of  them  are  you  going  to 
marry  ? 

EMMELINE.     Them? 

GARETH.     The  whippersnapper — or  the  other  fellow? 

EMMELINE.     What  is  this? 

GARETH.     Are  you  going  to  marry — either  of  them? 

EMMELINE.     What  right  have  you  to  talk  in  this  way  ? 

GARETH.     Will  you  marry  me? 

EMMELINE.     You ! 

GARETH.  I  love  you.  I  can't  think  of  anything  else 
but  you.  I'm  mad  for  you. 

EMMELINE.  Are  you  going  to  spoil  our  wonderful 
friendship  ? 

GARETH.    Friendship  ?    You  always  knew  I  loved  you. 

EMMELINE.     I   didn't.     That  is 

GARETH.     You  always  knew  I  worshipped  you. 

EMMELINE.  Y-yes.  But  worship  is  not  love.  I 
hoped  that  you  would  see  that  you  must — keep  it  from 
becoming  love. 

GARETH.  That's  a  lie.  (Shocked  at  himself  for  an 
instant.)  What  have  you  kept  me  dangling  round  for? 
I'll  tell  you.  Because  it  interested  you  to  see  me  in 
love  with  you.  To  see  me  fumbling  about  and  wonder 
ing  how  far  I'd  dare  go  and  how  I'd  go  about  it.  Be 
sides,  I  was — useful. 

EMMELINE  (proudly  and  coldly).  I  think,  Gareth, 
you'd  better  leave. 

(Gareth  looks  at  her  despairingly.  But  as  he  has 
been  somewhat  appalled  at  his  own  daringf  he  turns  to 
go.  At  the  door  he  pauses.) 

GARETH  (pleading  like  a  child).  If  you're  sending 
me  away  like  this,  just  because  you  think  he  might  be 
coming — there's  plenty  of  time.  To  settle  this  right 


150          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

now.  I  guess  I  know  all  there  is  to  know  about  how 
crazy  you  would  be  to  marry  me.  But  that  ain't  the 
point.  I've  known  that  all  along  and  so  have  you.  And 
I  wanted  it  to  go  on  and  so  did  you.  What  right  had 
you  to  keep  me — all  raw  like  this  ?  If  you  didn't  intend 
to  marry  me — or — or — wouldn't  ever  love  me?  Are  you 
going  to?  That's  what's  got  to  be  settled  right  now. 

EMMELINE.     I  think,  Gareth,  you  had  better  go. 

GARETH.     All  right.     But  111  never  come  back. 

(The  bell  rings.  Both  are,  for  their  different  reasons, 
arrested  by  it.  Then  Emmeline  walks  into  room  right. 
After  hesitating  Gareth  opens  the  door.  To  Edmund.) 

EDMUND  (coming  in  and  looking  quickly  around  for 
Emmeline).  So  you're  the  first? 

GARETH.  For  two  cents  I'd  lick  the  life  out  of  you, 
you  shrimp!  Right  here! 

EDMUND.  Come,  get  on  your  company  manners.  I 
see  you've  changed  your  tie  for  the  tea-party. 

GARETH.  You  be  damned!  (Chuckling  angrily). 
And  your  damned  tea-party  too!  So  that's  what  you 
came  nosing  round  for,  did  you? 

EMMELINE  (appearing  at  door,  in  a  withering  tone). 
What  was  it — you  came  nosing  round  for,  Mr.  Atkinson  ? 

EDMUND  (coolly).  Because  as  I  opened  the  kitchen 
door,  to  scuttle  out  as  requested,  I  saw  who  your  caller 

was.  After  a  turn  about  the  block,  I  came  back  to 

(He  pauses.) 

EMMELINE.     Well? 

GARETH.  You  needn't  worry  about  what  you  came 
back  for.  There  ain't  going  to  be  any  tea-party. 

EMMELINE  AND  EDMUND.     What? 

GARETH  (with  a  mixture  of  pride  and  alarm).  I 
stopped  them  all  at  the  street  door.  When  they  got  out 
of  their  taxiesl  Told  them  I  was  the  doctor  and  Annie 
had  scalded  herself  all  over  and  was  going  to  the  hospi 
tal.  The  five  of  them  and  their  taxies!  The  whole  fu 
neral!  (Edmund  cannot  restrain  a  burst  of  laughter.) 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  151 

EMMELINE.     The  whole  five  of  them? 

EDMUND.  I  invited  them  here  this  afternoon.  They 
phoned  while  he  was  here  working  and  I  was  here  wait 
ing — for  you.  Now  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it? 

EMMELINE  (icily).    May  I  ask  what  we  did  it  for? 

EDMUND.  To  see  them.  I  had  met  one  of  my  un 
known  rivals.  Oh,  yes,  rivals !  I  wanted  to  look  over 
the  others  and  figure  out  my  chances.  (Unable  to  re 
strain  a  chuckle.)  And  now  Garrity  has  upset  the  pot. 

GARETH  (furiously).  Thank  God  she's  got  no  use 
for  you  either! 

EMMELINE  (in  a  low  voice  tremulous  with  anger). 
Both  of  you — gentlemen — had  better  go  at  once. 

GARETH   (pleadingly).     Emmeline! 

EMMELINE.     And  not  come  back  again. 

GARETH  (after  a  moment,  slowly,  sadly,  and  passion 
ately).  Suits  me.  Since  I  met  you  you've  held  me  up 
for  everything.  My  time,  my  money,  my  thoughts.  I 
haven't  owned  anything  about  myself  or  had  a  plan  of 
my  own.  And  you  knew  it.  What  did  you  expect  to 
give  in  return?  Emmeline,  you  ain't — honest!  {He 
goes.) 

EMMELINE  (to  Edmund  after  a  moment).  One  word 
before  you  go.  I  hope  you  don't  believe — there's  been 
anything  between  us.  (He  is  silent.)  Say  so. 

EDMUND.     Of  course  not. 

EMMELINE.     Thank  you. 

EDMUND.  Thank  me?  Emmeline,  much  as  I  love 
you,  I  would  think  better  of  you  if  there  had  been. 

EMMELINE.     How  dare  you! 

feoMUND  (very  gravely).  A  woman  has  no  right  to 
interfere  like  that  with  a  man's  life  unless  she  intends — 
to  love  him  or  to  marry  him. 

EMMELINE   (imperiously).     What  do  you  mean? 

EDMUND.  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean.  You 
condemn  the  tactics  of  women  well  enough  when  you 


152  The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

want  to.  But  you  don't  attack  them  for  what  you  are 
doing  yourself.  Selling  your  femininity. 

EMMELINE   (angrily}.     Selling? 

EDMUND.  For  flowers,,  theatre  tickets,  suppers,  din 
ners,  motor  rides.  You  won't  bother  with  a  man  unless 
he  gives  you  a  good  time.  But  you  take  care  to  hold  out 
hopes  to  him,  hopes  that  make  us  spend  more  on  you 
than  we  can  afford.  And  what  do  you  give  us  in  re 
turn?  Your  society.  Your  society,  in  which  you  pru 
dently  and  deliberately  dangle  before  our  eyes,  the  eyes 
of  purchasers  you  mean  to  cheat,  what  another  kind  of 
girl  sells  honestly,  in  the  open  market  and  without  sen 
timent.  You're  both  of  you  peddlers  and  she's  the 
straight  one.  Sometimes,  in  spite  of  your  calculations, 
love  sweeps  you  off  your  feet  and  then  you're  ashamed 
to  go  on  haggling.  Then  no  matter  whether  you  marry 
the  man  or  run  away  with  him,  you  become  honest  for 
once. 

EMMELINE.  Honest!  Honest!  You  prate  of  being 
honest!  After  centuries  of  oppression,  of  brutality,  of 
inhumanity  in  order  to  keep  us  your  slaves. 

EDMUND.  Oh,  yes,  I'll  admit  it.  And  it  has  made 
you  what  it  always  makes  people.  A  race  of  tricksters 
and  traders.  Oh,  I  don't  blame  woman  in  general.  She 
has  done  what  she  was  forced  to  do.  But  you  women 
who  by  reason  of  education,  industry,  profession,  talent 
have  raised  yourselves  out  of  the  pit  a  man-made  civili 
zation  dumped  the  whole  of  you  into 

EMMELINE.  Who  no  longer  need  eat  out  of  a  man's 
hand  and  fawn  upon  him  for  our  next  day's  food! 

EDMUND.  Yes.  Are  you  any  better  than  the  rest  of 
them?  No,  you  are  tricksters  and  traders  still.  A  lit 
tle  more  subtle,  that  is  all.  Look  at  your  attitude. 
There's  nothing  honest  about  it.  You  want  to  be  treated 
as  superiors  and  inferiors  at  the  same  time.  We  must 
look  up  to  you  and  yet  we  must  protect  you.  Give  you 
the  privileges  of  the  weak  and  the  rights  of  the  strong. 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise          153 

The  woman  who  was  frankly  a  clinging  helpless  vine 
was  far  more  honest.  She  never  dreamt  of  anything  but 
privileges,  she  knew  she  was  weak  and  had  to  be  pro 
tected.  She  knew  she  had  but  one  thing  to  sell  and  she 
got  herself  to  market  as  quickly  as  possible.  And 
thanked  God  if  the  man  who  bought  her  was  decent  to 
her. 

EMMELINE.  Decent?  You've  never  been  decent  to 
us.  Now  you  magnificent  men  want  to  play  fair,  as  you 
call  it,  for  the  first  time  in  history.  And  you  wonder 
why  women  can't  chuck  up  at  once  the  experience  of 
ages.  After  being  for  thousands  of  years  only  what 
civilized  man  has  forced  them  to  be,  dependents  in  the 
home  or  outlaws  on  the  street.  And  with  your  thou 
sands  of  years  of  opportunity  you're  not  so  civilized 
after  all.  We've  still  got  to  fight  every  step  of  the  way. 
With  the  only  weapons  your  superior  strength  has  not 
been  able  to  wrench  from  us.  Trickery  and  sex.  What 
taught  us  to  use  them?  The  need  of  competing  with 
each  other  for  you,  the  only  means  of  livelihood  you 
left  us.  Now  we  make  you  compete  for  us,  when  we're 
lucky  enough  to  be  attractive  to  you.  When  we're  not, 
we  starve.  On  the  miserable  wages  you  give  us. 

EDMUND.     Wages?     Look  what  you  make. 

EMMELINE.  You  know  very  well  I'm  talking  of 
women  in  general. 

EDMUND.  You  know  very  well  I'm  talking  of  you  in 
particular.  What  do  you  spend  on  me? 

EMMELINE  (astounded).     You? 

EDMUND.  Absurd,  isn't  it?  But  just  because  you're  a 
woman  I  must  spend  on  you.  Pay  for  your  society. 
Why  must  I?  What  do  you  pay  for  mine? 

EMMELINE   (sparring  for  wind).     For  yours? 

EDMUND.  All  well  enough  when  women  didn't  make 
their  living.  But  now  that  they  do,  why  should  we  go 
on  spending?  That's  a  tradition  you  don't  want  to  lay 
hands  on.  Why? 


154          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  iV 

EMMELINE.     Because — because 

EDMUND.  God  knows !  The  same  reason,  I  suppose, 
that  when  a  man  breaks  his  engagement  he's  an  un 
mitigated  cad.  But  when  a  woman  breaks  hers,  she's 
wisely  found  out  her  mistake  in  time.  Well,  what  do 
you  spend  on  me? 

EMMELINE  (with  triumph  and  with  relief}.  I  dress 
for  you.  That's  what  I  spend. 

EDMUND  (staggered  at  her  nerve).     For  me? 

EMMELINE.  Yes,  it  takes  all  my  money  to  dress.  To 
make  myself  charming.  Men  demand  it. 

EDMUND  (derisively).    And  if  we  didn't,  you  wouldn't. 

EMMELINE  (spying  a  better  point).  Yes.  Woman 
demands  it  herself.  Because  she  has  an  instinct  man 
does  not  possess.  The  eternal  and  indestructible  instinct 
for  beauty.  The  shop  girl  denies  herself  a  crust  to  buy 
a  pitiful  bit  of  finery. 

EDMUND.  To  catch  the  eye  of  a  man.  To  dress  her 
self  for  market. 

EMMELINE.  She  would  do  it  anyway.  Her  heart 
craves  beauty.  Even  if  she  pays  for  it  with  her  poor 
starved  body.  Where  would  beauty  be  if  it  weren't  for 
women?  It  is  we,  we  who  have  kept  alive  the  charm, 
the  fragrance,  the  color  of  life.  Would  you  like  to  see 
it  go  ?  Think  how  dingy  and  drab  the  world  would  be  if 
we  didn't  beautify  it  with  our  clothes.  Look  at  what 
you  men  have  come  to.  Once  you  dressed  even  better 
than  women  but  you  were  too  lazy,  too  selfish,  too  pur 
blind  to  keep  it  up.  Year  after  year  your  clothes  have 
become  more  sober,  more  grubby.  Until  now  they're 
just  dry  goods  with  pockets  in  them.  Uniforms.  All 
alike,  no  distinction,  no  variety,  no  individuality,  no 
charm.  Where  is  your  ancient  splendor  and  beauty? 
Why,  you've  nothing  left  but  your  necktie.  You  said 
that  in  exchange  for  your  dinner  I  give  you  only  a  cup 
of  tea 

EDMUND.     I  didn't! 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise          155 

EMMELINE  (with  a  moment  of  confusion).  You  might 
as  well.  But  I  give  you  with  it  a  gown  that  has  cost  me 
hours  of  thought  and  time.  I  give  you  delight  for  the 
hungry  eye — hungry  for  the  beauty  you  don't  know  how 
to  create  for  yourself — refreshment  for  the  humdrum 
mind,  food  for  the  weary  spirit. 

EDMUND.     You  are  altogether  adorable. 

EMMELINE.  But  these  little  things  I  have  to  save  and 
scrimp  for.  I  can't  feast  your  spirit  and  your  stomach 
too.  Better  a  cup  of  tea  where  beauty  is  than  a  stalled 
ox  with  ugliness.  (Coaxingly.)  Confess  now,  don't  my 
clothes  afford  you  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  ?  Even  when 
you're  too  stupid  to  see  it? 

EDMUND.  Darling!  You  are  exquisite,  radiant.  To 
keep  you  so  I'd  spend  every  cent  I  made.  (He  tries  to 
take  her  impetuously  in  his  arms.  She  partly  avoids 
him.) 

EMMELINE.  Aren't  you  sorry  you  spoke  to  me  like 
that? 

EDMUND.     I  was  a  brute. 

EMMELINE.  Just  the  usual,  blundering,  thick-witted, 
dull-eyed,  earthly  male. 

EDMUND.  Adorable  creature  of  air  and  fire,  will  you 
marry  me? 

EMMELINE  (still  evading  his  embrace).  I'm  glad  you 
wore  that  tie,  Bunny,  to  ask  me  in.  I  like  you  in  black. 
With  your  eyes,  you  ought  never  to  wear  anything  live 
lier  than  gray. 

EDMUND  (retreating).  Aha!  What  has  become  of 
our  beauty  and  splendor?  You've  got  at  last  what 
you've  been  working  for  all  these  years.  One  by  one 
we've  left  off  the  silver  buckles,  the  silk  stockings,  the 
purple  knee-breeches,  the  flowered  waistcoats,  the  plum- 
colored  coats,  the  ruffles,  the  laces,  the  hats  with  sweeping 
plumes.  Why?  You  made  us.  With  your  serpent's 
tongue  you  hissed  into  our  ears  that  they  were  unmanly, 
effeminate.  That's  been  your  little  game  all  along.  Now 


156          The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise     ACT  IV 

you've  got  us  just  where  you  want  us.  Look  at  the  opera, 
at  dinners,  dances.  We're  all  black  and  white,  like  a 
row  of  whiskey  bottles  with  labels  on  them.  To  set 
you  off.  With  your  shimmer  and  color  and  warmth  and 
sparkle  and  glow.  Men  made  you  weak  in  order  that 
they  might  appear  strong.  Well,  you've  got  your  re 
venge  at  last.  You've  made  us  ugly  that  you  might  be 
the  more  beautiful. 

EMMKLINE.     Ridiculous ! 

EDMUND.  Ridiculous?  When  did  you  begin  to  fleece 
us  of  our  last  shred  of  gaiety  and  distinction?  When 
did  silk  stockings  go  out?  When  was  the  last  Beau 
Brummel?  I'll  tell  you.  Just  when  the  first  woman 
began  to  talk  about  woman's  rights. 

EMMELINE.     Absurd!     There's  no  connection! 

EDMUND.  All  the  connection  in  the  world.  You  saw 
in  that  damnably  tricky  way  of  yours  that  if  you  got 
your  rights,  you'd  have  to  support  yourselves  and  then 
your  position  as  spender  for  man  would  vanish.  Oh, 
doubtless  you  didn't  figure  it  out!  But  your  instinct 
warned  you  you'd  have  to  get  something  to  put  in  its 
place.  Even  your  instincts  are  dishonest.  So,  syste 
matically,  deliberately,  you  discouraged  our  fineries. 
For  that  very  purpose.  So  that  you  could  corner  all  the 
beauty  and  charm  of  the  world  and  manufacture  a  new 
reason  for  men's  spending  money  on  you  when  the  old 
one  should  give  out.  Now  it's  rainbows  for  women,  uni 
forms  for  men.  {Striking  his  chest.)  Lit  up  with  black 
ties! 

EMMELINE.     Bunny,  you're  positively  epic! 

EDMUND.  Trickster,  peddler,  sophist,  serpent,  god 
dess,  divinity,  beauty — will  you  marry  me? 

EMMELINE.     I'll  see. 

EDMUND.  Come  out  to  dinner  with  me.  While  you're 
seeing. 

EMMELINE.  I  have  an  engagement,  (Giving  him  his 
hat.)  You  really  must  go  now. 


ACT  IV     The  Craft  of  the  Tortoise  157 

EDMUND  {trying  to  embrace  her,  she  eludes).  Will 
you  tell  me  tomorrow?  At  the  latest? 

EMMELINE.     Maybe.     Or  the  day  after.     Goodbye. 

EDMUND   {at  door).     I  love  you. 

EMMELINE.     You're  a  dear  boy.     And  so  amusing! 

EDMUND  {with  good-humored  exasperation).  Go  to 
the  devil.  {He  exits.) 

EMMELINE  (going  to  the  mantel,  she  takes  up  the  rib 
bon.  Then  goes  to  the  phone).  Cortland  725.  (She 
reaches  for  a  chocolate  out  of  the  candy  box  and  nibbles 
it.)  Hello,  I  want  to  speak  to  Mr.  Garrity.  (Takes 
another  nibble.)  Hello,  that  you  Gareth?  So  glad  I 
got  you  before  you  left.  You  were  a  dear  naughty  boy 
to  buy  me  that  ribbon  after  all.  And  so  clever  of  you 
to  outwit  me  in  that  way.  Oh  don't  be  cross,  you  funny 
nice  Bunny!  Don't  you  want  to  come  round  on  your 
way  from  work  and  cook  dinner?  All  right.  I'll  make 
the  salad.  Suppose  you  get  a  porterhouse  steak  and 
some  nice  fresh  mushrooms. 

CURTAIN. 


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The  craft  of  the       C7 
tortoise. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF   CALIFORNIA 
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